


You Make My Dreams (Come True)

by puckinghell



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Willy is still a hockey player but Zach isn't, what constitutes a slow born?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23878633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puckinghell/pseuds/puckinghell
Summary: “Fuck,” Zach calls, “Lady, no!”But Lady is basically a puppy, at 10 months old, and she’s already running away, tail wagging in excitement.Zach watches in horror as she runs not towards the exit, like Zach would’ve expected, but towards the NHL player that is for some reason in his apartment building, and promptly pushes her nose into William Nylander’s crotch.Alternatively; Zach has a crush, nearly messes everything up, obtains said crush, writes a book, definitely messes everything up, and figures out some stuff about himself. In that order.
Relationships: Zach Hyman/William Nylander, background hints to Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews, past William Nylander/David Pastrnak - Relationship
Comments: 40
Kudos: 322





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is nothing but pure self indulgence because I have read every single Zach/Willy fic on this website and I wanted more. My first multi chapter fic! 
> 
> The beginning and the end were very easy to write but honestly not even I know what's going on in the middle.
> 
> Based on the Leafs goal song. I haven't heard that sound in 20 years.

Being a writer is not a job that will bring in the riches – with a few exceptions – but Zach has made enough from the children’s books he’s written to afford a nice apartment in a nice neighborhood in Toronto.

With nice, of course, he means exactly that: it’s nice. It’s the kinda place where you probably won’t get robbed, but it’s not like he knows all his neighbors by name and brings them cookies every day, and there’s no security in his apartment complex, but he doesn’t really feel like he’d need it.

With nice, Zach doesn’t mean that it’s the kinda place where he’d expect an NHL player to live.

And yet, when Zach goes to walk Lady one early morning, wearing a hoodie and slippers and still holding his coffee mug because he got up literally five minutes ago, he’s pretty sure that’s William Nylander, walking into the lobby of the building.

He blinks a few times, but yep, still William Nylander, standing there with two giant suitcases.

Zach watches hockey, because he’s _Canadian_, so of course he does, and he is a Leafs fan, so he’s seen Nylander many times on his TV. It’s very different, though, having him standing here right in front of him.

He’s wearing a suit, clearly tailored to perfection, fitted snuggly around his shoulders. Around his massive shoulders. Wow, Zach hadn’t realized that his shoulders were so big.

His hair is blonde, which Zach knew, but it falls a little unruly over his ears, like Nylander has been repeatedly tugging his hand through it. It makes him look adorably human.

Now that Zach thinks about it, Nylander looks a little like he also was asleep five minutes ago, except he’s wearing a suit that probably costs more than Zach’s monthly rent and he’s just all around a lot more handsome than Zach, which means he pulls off that look a lot better.

The suitcases next to him are Gucci, and it takes that realization for Zach to also realize that he’s been staring at Nylander for a good twenty seconds.

Granted, Nylander is probably used to that, on account of being, you know, William Nylander, but it’s still not very polite, so Zach drags his eyes away and focuses on the door.

Next to him, Lady yanks the leash, reminding him of why he’s here.

Unfortunately, Zach is half asleep, half starstruck, and generally clumsy, so when Lady yanks the leash, the coffee that’s still in his mug slushes over the edge, and in an attempt to save his mug, Lady’s leash slips from Zach’s fingers.

“Fuck,” he calls out, “Lady, no!”

But Lady is basically a puppy, at 10 months old, and she’s already running away, tail wagging in excitement.

Zach watches in horror as she runs not towards the exit, like Zach would’ve expected, but towards the NHL player in his lobby, and promptly pushes her nose into his crotch.

“Oh, hello,” Nylander says, not sounding annoyed at all at the wet dog nose between his legs. There’s a lopsided grin crosses his face as he crouches down and starts petting Lady.

It takes Zach a few seconds before he can move his feet, but he does, running over to his dog and grabbing the leash.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” he sputters, but Nylander doesn’t seem upset; he’s laughing as Lady nuzzles her nose into his stomach, seemingly not caring about the dog hair and dog drool that is now covering his suit.

“Don’t be, man,” he says, still grinning. “I love dogs.”

Zach stands there, frozen, as Nylander actually _sits down_ on the _floor_, and hugs Lady close to him.

For one, that’s surprising because Lady usually doesn’t really let strange people cuddle her; she takes a while to warm up to people.

Like owner, like dog, maybe.

Secondly - and maybe that’s even more surprising - because even though this is a nice apartment building, it’s not _more _than nice, which means the lobby gets cleaned maybe once a month, and there’s currently mud all over the floor.

“I’m… Your suit, I’m sorry,” he stammers.

_Great job, Zach, good with the words there, huh? Real writer’s brain._

Nylander shrugs. “I’ll get it cleaned.”

Of course. He’ll get it cleaned. Because he probably doesn’t even own a washing machine, he’ll have people to do that for him, _of course_ he’s not bothered.

“Right,” Zach breathes. The silence that falls could be awkward if not for the fact that Nylander starts making kissy noises at Lady, then, which gives Zach a reason to talk about his dog.

Zach really loves talking about his dog.

“Her name is Lady,” he says. “Like, the wolf from Game of Thrones? She’s only 10 months, so she can be a bit overexcited. Doesn’t realize she’s actually a big dog now.”

Nylander smiles. “That’s a cute name for a cute lady.” He giggles. “Ah, I didn’t even do that on purpose.”

Despite everything, Zach can’t stop himself from smiling.

“And what’s the cute owner’s name?” Nylander asks then, his eyes traveling down Zach’s body.

Zach feels his cheeks flush. He doesn’t kid himself thinking that Nylander is being purposely flirty; he’s probably just like that with everyone. Beautiful people usually are, in Zach’s experience, and they rarely mean it. Zach knows people that look like William Nylander don’t flirt with people like Zach, even when he’s looking his best; and looking his best, he is decidedly not.

“Zach,” he says, when he realizes he’s taken an embarrassingly long time to answer. “My name is Zach. I, uh, live here.”

_Obviously you live here, Zach. You’re in the lobby at 7am looking like you just rolled out of bed. _

“Cool,” Nylander says. “I’m Willy. I live here too.”

Something short circuits in Zach’s brain. “You live here?”

Nylander laughs. “It’s understandable if you haven’t seen me here yet. I’ve only just moved in. Don’t even have a coffee maker yet.”

He looks a little wistfully at Zach’s mug. “Dude, I literally just got off the plane, I would kill for some coffee.”

And Zach should probably politely point Nylander towards the coffee shop on the corner, that makes great lattes and also has the best cinnamon rolls, and then he should get the hell out of here before Lady pees on the floor, but Zach’s brain is apparently still fully asleep, cause somehow, he says:

“I have some coffee at my place.”

Nylander – Willy? What the hell is Zach supposed to refer to him as? – grins, stands up slowly.

“Great. You’re already my favorite neighbor, then.”

“I just have to, uh, walk her.” Zach tugs at the leash and Lady finally abandons her quest to bury her nose in William’s abs – Zach can’t even blame her for that desire – and stands at his feet.

William stands up slowly, stretches. The fabric of his suit jacket is strung tight across his shoulders as he does, and Zach’s mouth feels funnily dry.

“Cool, I’ll go put on some more comfortable clothes. I’ll be at your place in like, 20 minutes?”

Zach nods. For a second they just stand there, and then Zach realizes William is probably waiting for him to leave, so he turns around and starts walking towards the door.

“Hey, Zach?” William calls, and Zach turns around. “What number are you?”

And it takes Zach a minute to understand what he means, but then he flushes.

_Right, leave it up to you to invite someone back to your apartment then not tell him what apartment you live in. Good job, Zach, very smart._

“488,” he says, and William smiles.

It’s not until Zach is halfway down the street trying to stop Lady from chasing cars, that he realizes William’s number is 88. It could be something serendipitous, could be the first day of the rest of Zach’s life.

Zach laughs, a little humorlessly. As if.

It’s probably just coincidence, anyway.

\--

Zach only just manages to switch his basketball shorts for jeans when there’s a knock on the door and Lady completely loses her mind.

“Oh, aren’t you a good little watch dog,” William coos, immediately dropping to the ground to pet Lady when Zach opens the door.

Lady’s tail wags faster than Zach maybe has ever seen before.

William is wearing sweats and a T-shirt, now, so Zach doesn’t feel _as _bad for the fact that Lady is getting hair all over it, although his sweats probably still cost triple what Zach’s sweats would cost.

“Come in,” he manages to say. William stands up and grins, wanders into the apartment and kicks off his slides without even having to be asked.

Zach knows it doesn’t make sense, not wanting shoes in the apartment when he has a giant, hairy, muddy dog, but it’s a leftover habit from when he lived at home and his mom drilled it into him. Sue him.

“Nice place,” William says, looking around. He walks into the living room without asking, and Zach simply hoovers at the door while William inspects his home.

It _is _nice; Zach made sure of it. Most of the furniture is from secondhand stores, and it took him a long time to find pieces that fit together, but now that it’s come together it makes for a home with character. Sure, maybe there’s more bookshelves in his living room than most guys his age would have, but he’s a writer, so, what else was he gonna have in his room?

He watches as William walks over to the bookshelves.

Right, time to make himself busy.

“I’ll go make coffee,” he croaks, and basically runs off to the kitchen. It’s just, he doesn’t _hate _it when people look at his book collection, he just always feels a little uncomfortable. He feels like the books he has on display are an extension of his character, and there’s a lot that people could judge him for; like the amount of books about sports, hockey, how to raise a dog, and, maybe most importantly, the crazy amount of kids’ books he has.

It’s _research_, but William doesn’t know that, so Zach is all but preparing himself to hear a door slam as William runs back to his own apartment and calls the cops.

However, when William enters the kitchen, he looks completely undeterred.

“She likes me,” he declares instead, sauntering over to the dining table in the corner and lowering himself on one of the chairs.

Zach doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about; Lady is following William around like a lovesick puppy, and Zach would be jealous if he didn’t totally understand where she’s coming from.

There’s something about William that makes him easy to like. Even with the awkwardness of knowing he’s _William Nylander_, Zach finds himself enjoying his company, as they chat while he makes coffee and then while they drink it.

“What do you do?” William asks, sipping his coffee after dumping an enormous amount of sugar into it. Zach, who enjoys a good latte but mostly drinks his coffee black, can’t help but crinkle his nose at it, and William laughs. “Don’t judge, dude. I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

Zach decides to let it go, and answer the question instead. “I’m a writer.”

“Ahh.” William’s eyes light up in recognition. “That explains the books!”

Zach feels himself flush; so he _had_ noticed.

“The children’s books,” he finds himself hurrying to explain, “they’re research. I write… I write children’s books. I don’t just own 50 books for kids under 12 for no reason.”

William laughs. “I just figured you might have a kid.” He leans forward, almost as if he’s gonna say something secretive, and Zach feels his heartbeat speed up. “Do you have kids, Zachy?”

_Zachy_. It takes Zach a full minute to recover from that, and William raises an eyebrow, like he’s wondering if Zach accidentally _forgot _whether he has kids or not.

“No,” Zach finally brings out. “No, no kids. Just, uh, just Lady.”

At the mention of her name, Lady’s ears perk up, but she stays seated at William’s side.

“Good,” William beams. “Me neither. But I have a bunch of siblings and I bet they’d love to read your books. What’s your last name? I’m gonna buy them.”

“You don’t have to,” Zach says. His cheeks feel like they’re on fire, but he powers through. “I have like, copies of them, everywhere, you don’t have to spend money on them.”

William giggles, then reaches forward and softly pats Zach’s hand. His skin is warm and Zach was really wrong when he thought his cheeks couldn’t get much redder.

“I wanna buy them,” William says warmly, “cause that supports you, and I have a lot of money.”

He doesn’t say it in a bragging way, just very matter-of-factly, and Zach nearly chokes on the air he inhales.

William is still giggling. “I know you know who I am, Zachy. You’ve got like, three books about the Leafs in your living room.”

_Fuck_. Zach hadn’t thought about that. He’d been wondering, basically since William came in, if he should mention that he knows who William is; it felt weird to ignore it, and he would feel like he was lying if he asked William what he did for a living, for example, but saying he _knew _could very well make him sound like a creep.

Or maybe William would simply choose not to hang out with someone who is a fan. And Zach very much would like to hang out with him a bit longer.

“I, uh, sorry,” is what Zach manages to say, and the smile William sends him is bright and happy.

“Don’t be,” he says. “Just tell me where to find your books.”

Zach tells him, and luckily William refrains from buying them right there at Zach’s kitchen table – Zach thinks he might die of awkwardness, if that happened – and then William casually says; “So, did you watch last night’s game?”

Zach has, and they fall into a conversation about hockey pretty easily. After William’s NHL hockey, they talk about Zach’s college time, when he still played, and William makes Zach promise to go skating with him sometime.

Suddenly, it’s nearly lunch time, and William stretches out and declares he has to go nap.

“Thanks for the coffee, Zachy,” he says, at the door, scratching Lady behind her ear even after he’s cooed goodbye to her at least ten times. “If it’s this much fun to get coffee with you, I might just never buy a coffee maker.”

Zach feels himself blush a little, but the words don’t nearly affect him as much as they would’ve at the start of the day.

William is still William Nylander, and Zach still knows that people as beautiful as him simply flirt with everything that walks, and they’re not actually interested in people like Zach. But somehow, through the course of the morning, William also became Willy, who chirps Zach about drinking black coffee and lights up when he talks about his siblings, and who Zach’s dog loves maybe even more than she loves Zach, and Zach thinks that although NHL player William Nylander might not be in Zach’s league, he could be pretty good friends with his new neighbor Willy.

And that seems like a decent deal, to Zach.


	2. Chapter 2

Writer’s block is normal, and Zach is no stranger to it.

He’s written three books, and during all three of those books, there have been days, or even weeks, where he didn't know what to write. Where nothing his brain comes up with seems to transfer to paper. Or where he simply doesn’t _want _to write.

However, it’s different, this time. Different because this book is unlike all the others.

Zach writes childrens’ books for two reason. One, he likes children; he thinks they’re fun, and their imaginations are vivid and colourful, and he enjoys writing little life lessons into his stories that he thinks will help shape them into better people. Maybe he looks through rose coloured glasses, but he thinks it helps, if they read in books that anything is possible.

The second reason is that he writes childrens’ books because he doesn’t really believe he can write anything else.

Zach is a good writer, he thinks, but he’s not a _great _writer. He can never keep up with mysteries even when he reads them, so writing them would be a disaster. He’s smart, but not smart enough for anything non-fiction – although he thinks he might be able to write about the Maple Leafs franchise if he tried – and romance…

Romance is a whole different can of worms.

But childrens’ books are easy to Zach. One straight forward storyline, a few characters with a little character development, and a plot without too many distractions. They’re fun, but they’re not _challenging_, is the thing, and Zach believes in challenging himself.

So he told his publisher that he was going to write a novel.

Which his publisher somehow managed to turn into a _romance novel_, even though that was very clearly not the plan that Zach came into the meeting with. But romance novels sell well, are easy to fall into – his publisher clearly doesn’t know him very well – and therefor, are the place Zach is supposed to start.

So, writer’s block is not unfamiliar to Zach, but writer’s block before he’s even _started_ a project, as in, it’s more like a _project block_, that’s something Zach doesn’t know what to do with.

So he just plays a lot of COD, takes Lady on many walks, and somehow ends up hanging out with William Nylander most nights that he’s home.

He doesn’t really know how that happened, either.

It’s Sunday night and Zach is playing Fortnite, which he doesn’t do very often because he always seems to run into these 12 year olds that are absolutely brutal and simply destroy him, when Zach’s phone buzzes.

He thinks it’s probably his mom, or maybe Brownie, and only the idea that it might be Brownie wanting to play a game with him makes Zach reach for his phone.

He always beats Brownie in Fortnite, and it never gets less entertaining to watch Brownie lose his mind.

It’s not Brownie. It’s Willy.

So, a few days after first meeting Willy, Zach ran into him while he was getting his mail and Willy nearly tackled him to the ground with the force of swinging his arm across Zach’s shoulders.

“Zachy, you should give me your number,” he’d grinned, smiling that lopsided grin of his that made something in Zach’s stomach somersault. “In case of emergencies. You know, like, my apartment being on fire, or flooding, or if I get lonely and want to cuddle Lady.”

Of course he didn’t say he wanted to cuddle _Zach_, but for some reason Zach turned red all the same.

However, he’d quickly find out there wasn’t really any way for Zach to say no to anything Willy asked, and they exchanged numbers. Since then, Willy had been texting him almost constantly.

Texts ranging from

_I don’t know how to turn on this oven _

to

_Can you believe how good the Oilers are suddenly??? _

to

_I bought Lady a Carlton the Bear plushie_

and suddenly Zach found himself looking forward to Willy’s texts as if they were the highlight of his day.

Maybe they are, but Zach is not ready to admit that to himself yet.

The text now reads:

_I really need your help, come over? _

Something heavy settles in Zach’s stomach as worry washes over him, but before he can dwell on what could possibly be wrong, another text comes in, and then a third.

_Don’t worry I’m not dying_

_Bring Lady I need emotional support_

So there’s not much else for Zach to do than put on his slides and leave his apartment, Lady hot on his heels.

Willy lives on the 8th floor, in apartment 8, because he’s a hockey player and they’re annoyingly superstitious, to the point where Willy took a smaller apartment simply because it was apartment 8 on floor 8.

Zach would’ve chirped him – did a bit – but ultimately couldn’t really disagree when Willy said: “I live alone and I’m barely home, I don’t need a big apartment.”

Especially because Willy doesn’t really own much furniture.

Willy’s lack of furniture and the fact that Zach has a large dog to move around, means they almost always hang out at Zach’s apartment, which is why it feels a bit strange for Zach to knock on Willy’s door.

The weight of worry still swirls around in his stomach, and Zach _knows _it’s stupid, but he can’t really help himself.

But when Willy opens the door, he doesn’t seem hurt. He looks tired, sure, his face a bit pale and dark circles around his eyes, but Zach saw the game against the Lightning yesterday and it doesn’t surprise him that Willy is tired. His clothes are a bit rumpled and his hair looks mussed, like maybe he just woke up from a nap.

“Lady,” Willy coos, petting her head and then stepping aside to let her run into the apartment. He grins at Zach. “Hyms, good to see you.”

Zach played college hockey but it’s still funny to him that Willy rolled straight into the hockey nicknames. Hyms, Hymie, Willy even called him The Hymanator once, when Zach made him some roasted asparagus and Willy was convinced that meant he was secretly a superhero, because “_Who knows how to cook these things, Hymie, seriously?_”

Zach and probably every adult in the world, but whatever.

“Did you watch the game last night?” Willy calls over his shoulder. He’s walking in front of Zach and Zach notices how stiffly Willy is moving, like every step pains him.

Zach did watch the game, and it was, to be honest, a complete disaster. The Leafs played a really good first period, then promptly forgot how to hockey in the second and the Lightning trampled them, both in goals and in the literal, physical sense of the word.

“Stamkos got you good, huh?” he asks carefully. Willy smiles, but it’s a tired smile this time, doesn’t really reach his eyes.

“He’s not even that big, the bastard, I don’t know why it hurt so much.”

Zach remembers the way he could almost feel his own teeth rattling when he watched Willy get slammed into the boards on TV. He remembers, also, that he couldn’t breathe for a solid minute, until Willy was up and skating on his own again.

Zach decided he’s not gonna think that through too much.

They’re in Willy’s living room, now; Lady is already sprawled out on the couch. Zach tried to tell Willy that wasn’t a good idea – he has a _white _couch, for fuck’s sake – but Willy ignored him.

“Let me spoil my girl,” he’d said instead, and Zach was too busy having a breakdown over the fact that Willy just called Lady _his girl_ to argue him on it.

Right now, the coffee table is shoved up against the couch and in the middle of the room is what can only be described as a mess.

“Willy,” Zach asks, now, “what is going on?”

Willy sighs heavily. He’s looking at the mess in front of him a bit miserably.

“I’ve been trying to put up a bookcase,” he says, “that I bought from IKEA. I thought IKEA furniture was supposed to be easy, Hyms. I’m from Sweden, it should be in my blood, right? But there’s so many screws, Hymie, so many fucking screws.”

He sounds legitimately close to crying, and Zach kinda understands; there’s wooden planks scattered around and screws _everywhere_. He thinks there’s enough screws for three bookcases.

“And you called me to help, because….?” Zach picks up a plank, then simply puts it down again. He’s never bought anything from IKEA – he likes original items, thank you very much – and he definitely has never _made _furniture in his life.

“Because you own like, five of them,” Willy frowns, as if it’s a dumb question, and Zach realizes he means five bookcases.

“Yeah, but I didn’t put them together.”

Willy pouts his lips, his bright blue eyes suddenly seeming a lot bigger than Zach remembers them being, and whines: “Please, Zachy?”

And, well, call Zach weak, but he can’t say no to that.

So he sits down on the floor next to Willy, and tries to focus on the manual instead of how good Willy’s arms look in that shirt and for a while, it works. They have at least half a bookcase before Willy hums and clearly gives up, letting himself fall onto his back on the floor.

Lady, smelling an opportunity, immediately jumps off the couch and settles into his side.

Zach is maybe a little bit jealous, but that’s fine. It’s also fine that Willy’s shirt has reeled up a little and there’s now a strip of tanned skin visible, and if he really looked, probably some rock hard abs.

Zach is very deliberately not looking.

“This was an awful choice on my end,” Willy says. “I should’ve paid someone to do this.”

“You could pay me,” Zach jokes, and then, because he knows Willy, narrows his eyes and adds: “That was a joke. Don’t you dare pay me.”

Willy giggles. “Will you let me buy you dinner at least?”

It’s only then that Zach realizes he is kinda hungry, and he works on the bookcase while Willy orders Thai.

“Why do you even want a bookcase?” Zach asks, eventually. “You don’t own any books, Will.”

“I will,” says Willy, “as soon as the books I ordered come in.”

Zach’s heart flutters at the mere opportunity to talk about books. “What books did you order?”

“Yours.”

Willy says it easily, doesn’t even look at Zach as he says it; he’s stroking Lady’s head, staring at her lovingly while she’s curled into him on the couch. Which means he probably doesn’t notice the effect that simple word has on Zach - it’s a blessing, really.

Willy looks up, then, and Zach pretends to be very busy securing one of the final screws.

Luckily it’s not a big bookcase. Zach has only written three books.

“You write about hockey,” Willy says, and it’s not a question. Zach supposes he really has actually looked at the books he ordered, not just searched Zach’s name and called it a day.

“I write about characters that play hockey, sure.” Zach shrugs. “Write what you know, right? I wanted to play hockey when I was a kid, so now I write about kids that want to play hockey.”

“What else do you write about?” Willy asks.

“Why, are you not planning to read them?” Zach teases, mostly so he has a little longer to think about his answer.

Willy’s smile is a little on the sad side. “I was planning to save them until summer, when I’m with my sisters, so we can read them together.”

_Oh be still, fluttering heart_.

“They’re about dreams coming true,” Zach says, if only to get the sad, whistful look off of Willy’s face. He knows Willy misses his family; he mentions them all the time, and every time he does, he gets the same look. Zach knows playing for the Leafs is a great honour, but he thinks of all the things that Willy said goodbye to, and suddenly he’s really grateful that he lives close enough to just pop in and say hi to his parents and his brothers.

“Oh?” Willy looks interested, so Zach continues.

“Yeah, I don’t know, I just… We tell kids that they can’t do so many things, you know? When I was little and I said that I wanted to be hockey player, people told me to make sure I got my diploma first, in case it didn’t work out. And then when I said I wanted to be a writer, they told me that the arts don’t make much money, and was I sure I didn’t want to get into IT, like my brother? But then my brother wanted to get into professional gaming, and that wasn’t good enough either, because ‘gaming is not a career, Shane”, and…” Zach trails off, shrugs again. “I just wanted to write about kids that do get to make their dreams come true, I suppose. Teach kids something.”

“That if you really want something, you can have it,” Willy fills in, and Zach smiles as he nods.

“Exactly.” Then, he pats the bookcase. “I think we’re done.”

“Sick!” Willy slides off the couch, ends up on the floor next to Zach, their shoulders pressed together. He’s grinning, and despite the exhaustion on his face, he looks completely content. “Thanks, Zachy.”

“I’m writing an adult novel, now.”

Zach doesn’t know why he blurts it out; it’s certainly not like he was planning to tell Willy, and he usually doesn’t even like talking about his books before they’re done, let alone when he has _no _idea what he’s going to write about.

But Willy perks up, turns to him. “Oh, cool! What’s it about?”

_Isn’t that the million dollar question_?

“Uhm, I don’t know yet, exactly,” Zach admits. “I haven’t started yet. I just knew I wanted something different, challenge myself, so I’m stepping away from children’s books, this time.”

“Always good to challenge yourself,” Willy agrees easily, and Zach thinks of the boards rattling under Willy’s weight, thinks of the exhaustion set in the lines of his face, of the exasperation on Willy’s face when his shot didn’t go in last night, _again_.

Willy pushes himself, challenges himself, every single night he spends on the ice. Zach only has to string some words together until they form a story.

“Hey,” Willy says, bumping his shoulder into Zach’s; Zach doesn’t miss the way Willy flinches, probably at moving his poor bruised body so suddenly, but Willy doesn’t mention it so neither does Zach.

What Willy does mention is: “Maybe you should write about me!”

And Zach nearly chokes on the air he inhales.

Because Willy has _no _idea that Zach has been telling himself for days that that is _not _going to work. How much Zach has been convincing himself that he _can’t_.

Because every time Zach goes to sit down to write this romance novel, he thinks about how he’s a pretty romantic guy – his only ex boyfriend told him so, even after they broke up – but if he writes this from his own perspective, the only guy he could think of wanting to romance is currently sitting next to him staring manically at an IKEA bookcase that he bought for three books he doesn’t even own yet.

And every time he tries to put something to paper, the main character’s love interest turns out to be blonde, blue eyed, athletic, with a lopsided smile and a tendency to use nicknames.

Because he does not and will not write about the professional athlete that he has a major crush on, _especially _when that crush is also his neighbor, and maybe, Zach thinks, kind of his friend.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hello, person that does not live here,” Zach drawls, as he walks into the living room carrying two full bags of groceries.

Willy is sprawled out on the couch, watching Nailed It! with Lady in his lap.

“And she’s not allowed on the couch.” Zach says it mostly to be an ass, because he’s not enforced that rule since Lady was 3 months old.

“She spends more time on this couch than you,” Willy shoots back lazily, “and you gave me a key, Hyms.”

“Yeah, for _emergencies_.”

And with emergencies, Zach means that he gave Willy a key because on a rare day where Zach had a meeting and Willy was free, he asked Willy to hang out with Lady – she doesn’t like being alone, and neither does Willy, so there was really no reason for them _both _to be lonely – and Willy simply never gave back the key.

Zach hasn’t asked for it, either.

“This is an emergency.” Willy pouts. “I’m hungry.”

Zach sighs and digs into one of the two grocery bags, finding a bag of caramel popcorn and throwing it at Willy. At first, Willy squawks indignantly at the fact that there’s something being thrown at him, but then he catches it and his face lights up.

“Ooooh, for me?” he asks, and Zach wants to snap back that there’s no one _else _that voluntarily eats _caramel _popcorn, but he decides against it.

It’s not Willy’s fault that he’s been in a bit of a mood.

It’s just, Zach’s publisher has been getting more and more impatient, asking him for first drafts of the first chapter or at least “_some kind of concept, Zach, come on_” and Zach knows he’s majorly lacking behind on schedule, already, but he just…

He just still only seems able to write about his stupid beautiful neighbor. And the fact that Willy doesn’t leave him alone doesn’t help.

It’s been a month since Zach first met Willy, and he already can’t imagine that there was ever a time where Willy _wasn’t _in his life.

Whenever he looks at his phone, there’s a text from Willy. Sometimes Zach comes home and finds him on the couch, like right now. Sometimes Zach wakes up to stumbling noises signaling that Willy is taking Lady with him on his run. Sometimes Willy falls asleep on his couch during movie nights and Zach reluctantly wakes him up and basically carries him back to his apartment.

Zach can’t even watch a single hockey game anymore without texting Willy every single thought he has about it.

One time he was particularly annoyed with himself for the writer’s block, got drunk alone and watched an Oilers game. Willy laughed until he cried while he showed Zach the texts the next morning, all of them some variation of “_why is Leon Draisaitl so hot_”, some even detailing exactly what Zach thinks of his ass.

Well, there goes the secret of Zach’s sexuality, he supposes.

Zach has never really kept it a secret that he’s gay, but he doesn’t flaunt it. There hadn’t really been a conversation to naturally toss it into, before that night, so Zach hadn’t brought it up.

To Willy’s credit, he didn’t look shocked at all, didn’t seem to care, even. He just laughed and laughed and laughed.

Zach knows it’s a cliche to think Willy’s laugh is the best sound he’s ever heard, but he thinks it anyway.

“Zachy,” Willy asks, chewing loudly on his nasty caramel popcorn, “will you come to a game sometime?”

Zach freezes from where he’s unpacking the groceries, nearly drops the eggs in shock.

“What, like, your game?” he asks dumbly, and Willy giggles.

“No, my sisters' Monopoly game,” he teases, then rolls his eyes. “Yeah, my game, dumbass. We’re playing the Bruins this weekend, come?”

There’s absolutely no reason for Zach’s heart to be hammering in his chest the way it is, absolutely no reason at all. They’re pretty good friends, and he’s a hockey fan and Willy is a hockey player; it’s weird, probably, that Zach hasn’t been to a game yet.

It just feels…

It feels like something it isn’t, probably.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, because apparently he hates himself. “Can I bring a friend?”

Willy’s smile broadens. “Yes, of course!” Then focuses on his TV show again.

Zach takes his phone and texts Brownie right away.

_I need you to come with me to a Leafs game this Saturday. _

The reply comes almost instantly.

_Ooooh, the bf finally asked?_

Zach nearly chokes on his own tongue. See, _this _is why he feels nervous about things that he shouldn’t feel nervous about. Because his best friend is a loser and tries to make Zach’s dumb little crush on his attractive neighbor into something it’s not, something it’s never going to be, and…

And Brownie is an idiot, but he’s Zach’s best friend, and Zach doesn’t have enough friends to make a habit of strangling his best ones.

_He’s not my bf, but yes, he asked. And I obviously can’t go alone._

Then, for good measure, another text right after:

_I know you would never turn down the opportunity to see Freddie Andersen in person._

Again, the reply is fast.

_God, the things that man could do to me. Fine, you got a deal, Zachary. But you’re paying for beer._

Zach figures that’s a fair deal.

“Hymie?” comes Willy’s voice calling from the living room, and Zach forces himself to go stand in the door opening.

He can’t really speak, because his heart is still in his throat, but he manages a hum and Willy doesn’t need more prompting.

“Me and the boys are having a Chel tournie tonight at my place, wanna come?”

“Who are the boys?” Zach manages to ask, a little scared of the answer.

Willy counts on his fingers. “It’s me, you, Kappy, Matts, Mitchy and Mo.” He smiles. “We’re playing threes, so if you don’t come, one of us will have to play with the computer and we’ll all be very, very unhappy.”

_As if I’m not awkward enough around just Willy, it’s gonna be the entire future of the Leafs. Great. _

“I don’t really play Chel, Willy,” he tries, a little subdued, and that’s when Willy goes for the kill.

He puts on his puppy eyes and asks: “Please, Zachy?”

And Zach really doesn’t have another choice than to just say yes.

\--

“And then he said _please_, Spence, so I couldn’t say no, could I?”

Zach is laying on his bed, dressed and ready to go get beaten in Chel by NHL superstar Auston Matthews. Well, mostly ready; right now he’s still busy staring at the ceiling, feeling miserably nervous, and calling his brother to whine about it.

Spencer chuckles. “Dude, if my kids knew you’d be crying about getting to play video games with a bunch of Leafs’ players, they’d murder you. They’re small, but vicious.”

With ‘_my kids_’, Spencer doesn’t mean _his _kids; he doesn’t have any kids, at least, not any that Zach is aware of, and he thinks him and his brothers are all close enough that they’d share that kinda information.

Spencer is a peewee hockey coach, because Zach’s life is a joke and everything somehow comes back to hockey, at some point.

“I’m not crying,” Zach grumbles, “I’m just… I’m in over my head.”

There’s a silence at the other end of the phone, which means Spencer is actually thinking about what he’s going to say for once, which means Zach must sound extremely pathetic.

“You’re not in over your head,” Spencer seems to finally settle on. “It’s just some gaming with a bunch of guys. Sure, sometimes they put on a Leafs jersey and the city screams their name, but other times they get drunk and throw up on the sidewalk like the rest of us.”

“I’ve never gotten drunk and thrown up on the sidewalk,” Zach answers solemnly, because he hasn’t.

“That’s because you’re lame, bro,” Spencer grins – Zach can’t see that he’s grinning, but he can hear it in his voice. Then, a little gentler: “The point is that they’re normal. William is normal, right?”

Zach can’t help but laugh. ‘Normal’ is not a word he’d ever choose to describe Willy, but he gets what Spencer is going for.

The thing is.

He’s nervous, but he doesn’t quite know what he’s nervous for. Because he _knows _that they’re just normal guys, and sure, he might’ve gotten a little flustered when he met Willy, but that was mostly just shock; he’s usually pretty chill with these types of things.

This is a different type of nerves. Like…

“I just want them to like me,” he blurts out, which is probably too honest, because Spencer has always been the best at reading Zach, from all his brothers – then again, maybe that’s why Zach chose to call Spence, and not Oliver, who never knows what’s going on nor particularly cares.

“Awh,” Spencer says, amused. “You’re worried about your crush’s besties not liking you. It’s like meeting the family, except the family are all really big bulky hockey players.”

Zach doesn’t even deny the crush thing. At this point, he’s talked about Willy too much to deny it, and he also doesn’t really mind that Spencer knows.

“If you tell the others, you’re dead to me,” is what he says instead, and Spencer laughs.

“My dear big brother,” he starts, only because Zach hates it when he talks like that and Spencer is the worst, “if William didn’t like you, he wouldn’t be watching Game of Thrones cuddled up on the couch with you every night when he doesn’t even like the show.”

“That was only once or twice,” Zach protests, “and it wasn’t really cuddling, he was just sitting very close.”

“Not the point,” Spencer says, which is fair. “The point is, it’s not an exam, and it’s not a quest to win William’s heart. It’s just Chel with some guys.”

Zach has one last, albeit weak, whine-worthy note.

“I really suck at Chel, Spence.”

“Well.” There’s a silence, but this time it’s not Spencer’s thinking-silence, it’s Spencer’s ‘yeah well duh’-silence. “I can’t help you with that. You are really, very bad, bro.”

“I hate you,” Zach says, but he doesn’t mean it.

“You don’t mean that,” Spencer says. “Go meet your future family in law, Zachary.”

“I hate you,” Zach repeats, and this time, he kinda means it.

\--

Zach knocks on Willy’s door expecting, well, Willy, but it’s very definitely _not _William Nylander, who opens the door.

“Hello?”

Auston Matthews is bigger than Zach expected, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a year, which Zach supposes is fair when the weight of saving Toronto’s NHL franchise rests upon your shoulders.

He also looks a little scary, and completely unamused to be faced with Zach.

“Uhm, hi,” Zach says, and he’s proud to say his voice _barely _squeaks. “I’m Zach, uh, Willy’s neighbor? Willy said…”

“Oh!” Auston’s face lights up with something – recognition? – and he smiles, which immediately makes him look a lot less menacing. “Yeah, come in, bro.”

He doesn’t introduce himself, but then, Zach figures he rarely has to.

Zach follows Auston to the living room, from where there’s a lot of noise coming.

He knew it was gonna be a feat to get six grown men into Willy’s small living room, but it looks even more hilarious than he thought; Willy is sprawled out on his couch, head on Kasperi Kapanen’s thigh, feet in Mitch Marner’s lap. Morgan Rielly is sitting on a chair that he pulled from the kitchen, and Auston goes to sit on the floor, resting his back against Marner’s legs.

“Zachy!” Willy exclaims, and the pure joy radiating of his face is nearly enough to make Zach turn around and just go home, because _no way _is heart supposed to be beating as fast as it is.

Willy pushes himself up and sits, closer towards Kapanen and pats the couch next to him. “Come sit, Hymie. You’re on my team, and since you suck at Chel, we get Matts.”

Mitch makes a whiny noise. “But I wanted Matts!”

“You always get Matts,” Willy frowns. “It’s only fair that the worst on a team gets to play with the best, so I get Hyms and Matts.”

“Why don’t I get Hyms and Matts?” Mitch shoots back, and it’s a solid point, really, but Willy huffs as if it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard, then proceeds to completely ignore Mitch and focus on setting up the game.

“It’s okay, bud,” Zach hears Auston say, as he gently pats Mitch’s foot.

“Willy,” Morgan Rielly says, then, a little exasperated. “Shouldn’t you introduce us to Zach?”

Willy waves it away. “He knows who you are.”

Which is basically the most awkward thing he could’ve brought up, so now Zach’s cheeks are on fire and he’s definitely not moving to sit, because he feels like his feet are frozen into the floor.

_This was such a stupid idea_.

“William.” Morgan’s tone holds warning, and Willy looks up, eyes finding Zach’s. When they do, Willy’s face softens.

“Zachy,” he says, “this is Mitchy, Matts, Mo and Kappy. Everyone, this is Hyms.” Everyone hums in acknowledgement. “Now come sit?”

Somehow, Zach manages to make himself move, until he’s sitting between Mitch and Willy, thighs pressed together because Willy’s couch is _not _big enough for four people.

“Want a beer?” Morgan asks, and Zach nods.

Lord knows he needs it if he’s gonna survive this.

“Ouch, William, your elbow is in my _kidney_,” Kappy snaps, and they start pushing and bickering.

“Matts, Matty, Matts,” Mitch chants as he smacks the controller against Auston’s shoulders, which Auston ignores completely.

Zach wonders if this is a fever dream.

Then Morgan returns and presses a cold beer in Zach’s hands.

“They’re always like this,” he says, and he sounds a little like he feels bad for Zach. “It takes a while getting used to it.”

“No it doesn’t,” Willy says, “I’m a dream. Everyone loves being with me.”

“You’re a nuisance, and an idiot,” Kappy growls. “Give me the controller, I’ll do it.” He yanks the controller away from Willy and finally the game is getting set up; Willy doesn’t seem to mind, simply sinks into the back of the couch and leans his shoulder heavily against Zach’s.

His weight is warm and pressing, and finally Zach feels his heartbeat slow down. Mitch is still yapping at Auston and Kappy is still grumbling, and Morgan still looks like he’s personally offended at Willy being a bad host – as if Zach would’ve expected any differently – but it all kinda fades to the background, in comparison to the feeling of Willy against him.

It’s easier, then, to just play the game and enjoy the never ending chatter around him.

Zach has always felt more comfortable fading into the background; the spotlight was never his place, which is why he preferred being a name on a book to being a number on the ice. He doesn’t usually like meeting new people in groups because that’s a lot of attention on him, and he always feels awkward trying to fill the silence, like he’s trying and failing to keep high an expectation of himself, a better version of himself.

It’s not like that, now. The guys ask him some questions but they’re not anything deep or meaningful – “Who’s your team, Zach?” “Zach, can you tell Mitchy nobody likes Bud Light?” “You’re a writer? Cool” “Willy said you played, where?”

Which, is kinda a running theme throughout the evening, it seems: “Willy said”, “Willy mentioned” “So I heard”.

Apparently Willy talks about Zach.

It probably means nothing.

They’ve just finished their fourth game – Zach’s team won 3 out of 4, but literally only because Auston is maybe as good at Chel as he is at normal hockey – when Willy sits up and declares: “Zach is coming to the game Saturday.”

“Cool,” says Mitch, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Aren’t you gonna be hanging out with Pasta?”

“I’m seeing Pasta on Friday,” Willy answers, sinking back into the pillow, and, by proxy, into Zach’s side.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Morgan frowns. Zach has figured out that’s kinda Morgan’s role in the group; he has that older brother vibe about him.

Willy shrugs. “No,” he says, “but I’m going to do it anyway.”

“You know, it’s not nice to talk about stuff Zach doesn’t know about when he’s right here,” Kappy says, and it’s maybe one of the first times he’s addressed Zach this evening.

Willy shoots Kappy a dirty look. Zach has absolutely no idea what that look means, and he’s especially lost because the look lasts about a full twenty seconds, in which the two of them seem to have a whole, silent, conversation.

“Pasta, Pastrnak, from the Bruins,” Mitch explains, which – yeah, Zach got that. “Him and Willy are… friends.”

Kappy snorts.

Willy’s frown deepens.

Mitch seems oblivious. “They are friends, though,” he says, mostly to Kappy, Zach thinks. “Willy said that what happened during the summer was just a summer thing, and they’re gonna just be friends during the season, right, Will?”

“Yep,” Willy says, but his voice sounds clipped, and Zach feels like he’s intruding, somehow.

“I’m, uh, gonna get some water,” is what he comes up with, and he flees into the kitchen, away from whatever the hell is going on back there.

He shouldn’t be surprised when Morgan enters the kitchen a few seconds later.

“Don’t mind them,” he smiles, gratefully taking the glass Zach offers him. “They act like teenagers, sometimes.”

Zach shrugs. “It’s fine, just felt like I shouldn’t be there, I guess.”

Morgan fills the glass with water and leans against the kitchen counter. “William likes you,” he says, steady and matter of factly, and Zach nearly chokes on his water. Morgan seems worried when he pats Zach on the back.

When he’s finally breathing again, Zach manages to bring out: “Yeah, he’s a fun guy.”

“He is,” Morgan agrees easily. “He’s also… He gives his affection away without thinking. He’s trusting and if he likes you, he’ll give you his heart without even considering the consequences.”

Zach is quiet; he has a distinct feeling he’s being given a shovel talk, which is _ridiculous_, because William would never date someone like him.

“I’m not… I don’t have Willy’s heart,” Zach stammers. “We’re… friends. He likes my dog. I think he gets a little lonely sometimes. You know, he’s used to being around people, his family, you guys. It’s not a big apartment, but it is big for one person.”

Morgan nods. He doesn’t say anything, for a while, but he’s looking at Zach all contemplative, and Zach shuffles on his feet.

“You know,” Morgan says finally, “I think you might just be what Willy needs.”

Zach opens his mouth to say something to that – although he has no idea what he’s actually supposed to say – but Morgan has already left the kitchen. Zach stares at the door, wonders what the hell just happened.

He doesn’t have long to think about it, though, because Willy enters. His cheeks are a little flushed, and his hair is mussed, which Zach has learned means Willy has been raking his hand through. He only does that when he’s nervous, rattled, or stressed.

“Hey,” Willy says tentatively, like he’s expecting Zach to run away or something. “Sorry about that, back there. Kappy doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“It’s whatever,” Zach says, shrugs. He tries to put the conversation with Morgan out of his mind, and focus on Willy. It’s not hard, because Willy is standing kinda close, and his eyes are very bright, very blue, and Zach thinks he could drown in them.

_You need to lay off the cliches or this novel is gonna be a major flop. _

Which it is gonna be anyway, if Zach doesn’t fricking start writing it.

“No, it’s not,” Willy says. “It’s… I should’ve said I just…” He pauses, sinks his teeth into his lower lip.

Something in Zach’s stomach tightens.

“Pasta and I had a thing, over the summer?” It almost sounds like a question, but Zach knows it not. “It was just, yeah, nothing special. Just a summer fling, you know? And now we’re friends. We’ve been friends for a long time, and we kinda just went back to that. It’s fine, I’m not heartbroken. I just guess the guys worry about how I’m gonna do when I see him again. It’s the first time, since, you know. But we talk, so it’s not gonna be weird. I, uh, I get it if you don’t wanna come, anymore.” Willy’s voice trails off, and his eyes are fixed on the cabinet next to Zach’s head. He’s _nervous_, Zach realizes, although he doesn’t really know why.

It’s not like he should nervous about coming out to Zach, because Zach already came out to him. And there’s no reason for Willy to sound like Zach not coming to the game would be a major disappointment. Zach knows it doesn’t matter, if he’s there or not.

“Why would I not wanna come?” he asks, instead of saying any of this.

Willy’s eyes flicker to Zach’s face. “Cause… I don’t know. Cause you don’t wanna get in the middle of my summer romance drama? Even though there’s no drama,” he hurries to say. “Kappy has just watched too many bad movies.” Willy’s gaze falls to the floor, and he’s mumbling, when he adds: “Or, maybe cause I’m bisexual, or something?”

Zach blinks.

Willy really thinks…

“Will, _I’m_ gay,” he blurts out. “You know I’m gay, I told you…” But then Zach cuts himself off, because he realizes he never actually told Willy he was _gay_, he just sent Willy like 25 drunk texts about Leon Draisaitl’s ass.

Which, fine, that should’ve tipped Willy off, but Willy can be a bit clueless, sometimes.

As Zach expected, Willy’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says, realization sinking in. “I didn’t think… I wasn’t sure… I just thought…”

He doesn’t finish any of his sentences, but he doesn’t have to. Zach cracks a smile, and the one Willy gives him in return is so bright and blinding Zach nearly has to look away.

“Thanks for telling me,” Willy says.

“Yeah, you too.” Zach grins. “So, _are _you secretly pining after the Bruins’ wunderkind, or are you really just friends and are your teammates just bored and looking for a romance story?”

“Definitely that second thing,” Willy answers. “They should read your book, when it’s out.”

_If it ever comes out_. But Zach doesn’t say that.

Instead, he laughs, and manages to hide his minor freakout when Willy swings a heavy arm around his shoulders and pulls Zach into his side.

“You know, if they want a romance story, they should just look at Mitchy and Matts,” Willy whisper-says, as he drags Zach out of the kitchen.

Zach had a feeling there was something going on in that corner of the couch, but before he can ask Willy more about it, they enter the living room and Willy’s voice is light in his ear.

“Let’s go destroy Mitchy in Chel, Zachy.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re fidgeting,” Brownie says. “Zach, stop fidgeting. You know I hate when you do that.”

Zach abruptly halts his fingers from fraying at the hem of his jersey.

The jersey that Willy left him this morning, _Nylander 88 _sprawled across the back like some kind of cosmic joke, reminding Zach of what he can’t have.

Brownie had thought it was hilarious, because Brownie is an awful friend.

“Come on, bro, you’ve got to admit it’s funny,” he giggled, turning in front of the mirror in his own Leafs jersey. Willy had been nice enough to leave two, the other one a Matthews jersey – it makes sense he figured that whoever Zach’s friend was, he’d want the Matthews jersey. Everyone wants the Matthews jersey.

Zach knows that the Matthews jersey was for Brownie, because a text came in just a few minutes after he found the jerseys.

_Mine is yours!!!_

And everyone knew that if Willy used three exclamation marks in his texts, he really meant it.

Not that Zach would have it any other way. Sure, it would be great if his heart could stop fluttering every time he caught sight of himself wearing the jersey in any type of reflective surface – not just mirrors, but car windows, other people’s sunglasses, even a particularly shiny metal pole – but it’s not like there are any reflective surfaces around now that he’s actually in his seat, so he should be able to focus on the game.

If Brownie would just shut up, for a second.

“So, tell me why you’re moping again?”

“I’m not moping,” Zach says, mopingly.

“Sure, bud,” Brownie rolls his eyes, “but every time the _other _number 88 has the puck, you get this look on your face that kinda looks like you just chewed a lemon.”

Zach tries to school his face into neutral position, but that just makes Brownie snort, so he sighs.

“It’s not… I’m not _moping_,” he gives in, hesitantly. “But I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

“About…” Brownie prompts, and Zach hates him for making him say it out loud.

“About Will and…” He trails off, realizing they’re not only in a public place but in a place where every single person around him knows both Willy _and _Pastrnak, and he should probably not say their names.

Not that anyone would believe him, but still.

“About you being jealous,” Brownie finishes for him, and Zach doesn’t say anything, because he can’t exactly say that’s _not _true.

It’s just, like, sue him, okay? He has a massive crush on Willy, the kind of crush that could very easily become even more than a crush if he’d let it, and he doesn’t like thinking about Willy with someone else.

But it’s not like he can just _not _think about it.

Zach has tried that. He’s tried to push it out of his mind. When he got home that night, he was already a little tipsy and he got really drunk on his own in an attempt to forget, then called Brownie to whine about it, and then fell asleep on the couch.

The next day, despite his hangover, he went for a run with Lady and didn’t ask Willy to join him, in the hope that _that _would take his mind off of it, but that didn’t work because all he could think about was that he usually asks Willy to join him, and what if Willy found out and got upset?

The day after that, Zach went to the coffee shop on the corner, ordered a massive mocha latte – his indulgence treat that he saves for when things are really bad – and tried to write his God damn book. He ended up writing an entire chapter describing the color of William’s eyes, deleting it, and texting Willy to ask if he wanted something from the coffee shop.

The answer, of course, was a hot chocolate – large – and a cinnamon roll – no, make it, two – because Willy doesn’t understand the concept of indulgence, he just eats whatever and is somehow still ripped as hell.

It’s just not fair, but then again, Zach has learned most things aren’t, in life.

“If he says they’re really just friends, maybe you should try make a move,” Brownie says, taking a sip of his beer – who _sips _beer, Brownie, what the hell – and nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders, as if it’s of no interest to him at all.

Zach knows, however, that Brownie is as invested in this as he is in most of his reality shows.

“Right,” Zach snorts, “or I could just throw myself down against this glass and bang my head until I pass out.”

“Yeah,” Brownie admits, “you could do that, probably. We’re really quite close.”

They are; they’re so close to the glass that Zach swears he can see the splinters of ice when the guys’ skates cut into it, and despite everything, he finds himself getting lost in that. In the sounds and sights of a hockey game, something he misses so dearly, all the time.

Zach thinks he made the right decision. He loves writing – usually – and he doesn’t think he’s got what it takes to be a professional hockey player, especially now he sees how much Willy has to put in, and give up. He’s better suited as a writer. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss it. He thinks he’ll always miss it.

Having a part of it, even if it’s just a little part like this, means everything to Zach, and he couldn’t thank Willy enough for giving it to him.

Brownie, however, can go to hell.

“I think you should tell him, though,” he says, bumping his shoulder into Zach’s. “He’s totally interested in you too, dude. Why else would he always be over at your place?”

Zach shrugs. “Because he’s not good at being alone. He doesn’t like it. He’s used to his siblings being around, or the guys” – he nods towards the ice – “and his apartment is too quiet, he says. I told him to get a pet bird, but he says he likes Lady better.”

Brownie rolls his eyes again. If Zach hadn’t known his best friend for years, he’d be worried about him giving himself a concussion.

“Sure, he likes your dog. He could just go to a dog park, Zach. Or get a dog himself. He’s _lying_; he means he likes being around _you_.”

“That’s not true,” Zach says, and it’s not like he’s protesting for the sake of it, it’s not like he’s trying to be a dick.

It’s just not true, and Zach knows it as surely as he knows the sun will come up tomorrow, as sure as he knows his brothers secretly love him.

“But he’s always touching you,” Brownie throws in.

“He does that to anyone, though.”

And that isn’t a lie, either; Zach thinks back to when he walked into Willy’s living room to find his head is Kappy’s lap and his feet in Mitchy’s, or how he’d casually wrapped Morgan into a hug later that night just because.

Willy is a tactile guy, which means he likes touching Zach, but that doesn’t mean Zach is special.

“You know,” Brownie says, switching gears. “I think it’s just that you’re afraid of commitment.”

Zach nearly spits out the beer he just swigged.

“Think about it,” he continues, as if he didn’t open a conversation about the inner fears and insecurities of Zach’s soul, in the middle of a fucking _game_. “You meet this guy that’s really hot, and really perfect, just your type, and he always wants to hang out and he’s constantly texting you, and when he’s away on roadtrips he asks you to FaceTime, and he’s introducing you to friends, and even your dog loves him, and what do you do? Pine uselessly and quietly and tell yourself it could never work.”

He pauses, but only because the Leafs nearly score. When Rask makes the save, Brownie continues casually as ever.

“It’s the same with your books, man. Like, your publisher told you that if you can transition into adults books, something you _want _to do, she thinks you can sell more and really make a name for yourself. So what do you do? You overthink it, to the point where you’ve been trying to write this stuff for over a month and you don’t have a word on paper yet.”

Zach opens his mouth to protest, but Brownie isn’t done yet.

“Remember what James said?”

Zach thinks about his last boyfriend, who was really the nicest guy ever, even in the way he broke up with Zach, and sighs.

“He said,” he repeats dutifully, because Brownie makes him say it all the time, “that everything was really great with us, except for the fact that I always tried to find ways to make it not great. He said I was self sabotaging, like I didn’t want to be happy.”

Brownie nods solemly. “And what are you doing now, Zach?”

Zach would’ve answered – denied it, probably – but at that moment the crowd goes wild and Zach realizes he missed something.

_“What I want, you’ve got, but it might be hard to handle_

_Like a flame that burns the candle,_

_The candle feeds the flame” _

the Leafs’ goalsong goes, and Zach stands up and cheers, watches as Tavares makes his way to the bench to high five his teammates.

_“What I got, full stuck of thoughts and dreams that scatter,_

_And you pull them all together,_

_And how? I can’t explain”_

Zach wonders if Brownie has a point. Wonders if he’s ruining his own life without realizing it. Wonders if Willy…

_“Well, well you (ooooh, ooh ooh oooooh)_

_You make my dreams come true”_

There’s no way, Zach thinks, but Brownie thinks there is a way, and Brownie knows Zach better than Zach knows himself, he thinks.

“By the way, dude,” the girl next to him, wearing a Bruins jersey, says, “I think your friend is right. Totally tell that guy how you feel!”

Brownie laughs, and Zach feels a little nauseous.

_“Well, well you (ooooh, ooh ooh oooooh)_

_You make my dreams come true”_

\--

All in all, it’s not surprising that Zach’s moment of realization came at a hockey game.

After all, everything in Zach’s life seems to go back to hockey, in some way.

Zach has been home for a few hours. He came home high off the Leafs win and the look on Willy’s face when he scored, and he opened his laptop and wrote.

Once he started, and just let himself write what his heart wanted to write, it wasn’t actually as hard as he’d made it out to be. He doesn’t have much, but he has the first chapter, and it’s based on Zach’s life, because that’s what Zach does.

He writes about what he knows. He used to be a kid that wanted to play hockey, so he wrote about a kid who got to play hockey. He’s now a full grown man that wants to be stupidly and _mutually_ in love with some hockey player he met in the lobby because his dog tried to lick his dick, so he’s going to write about a guy who gets to do exactly that.

Zach writes about what he knows, and Zach writes about dreams coming true. He writes about two men meeting in the lobby of an apartment building, one wearing a suit and one wearing ratty old gym clothes. He writes about coffee, and talking until their throats feel dry. He write about a dog who loves instantly and innocently.

He doesn’t get much further right now, in the middle of the night, but he knows he’s going to be writing about making furniture, about stupid jokes, about a mismatch that becomes a match, about meeting friends and reading it wrong, then being set straight.

He’s going to write about this guy’s dreams coming true.

Granted, he’s not quite figured out how he’s going to make his own dreams come true, but he thinks in time, he will.

Whatever happens, he knows he at least has his best friend’s support, because Brownie texted him as soon as Zach stepped into the Uber to go home.

_Go get your boy, boy!_

Zach smiles. He hasn’t gone to ‘get’ Willy, because that’s not how life works, unfortunately, but he has written a chapter, so he’s pretty content about life when he starts brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed.

It’s 3am, and Zach is exhausted. The streets beneath his apartment are quiet; the whole world must be asleep, right now.

Which is why it’s extra strange when there’s a knock on Zach’s door.

_Willy_, is the first thought that crosses Zach’s mind, but he immediately pushes that away again. Willy hasn’t knocked since Zach gave him a key; he just lets himself in like he owns the place.

Zach would consider just not answering, except Lady is barking, which his neighbors probably won’t appreciate in the middle of the night, so he shushes her and goes to open the door.

It’s Willy, and he looks drunk.

“Will?” Zach asks. “You didn’t use your key.”

He has no idea why that’s the first thing he says; “hey, what are you doing here at 2 am”, “why are you swaying on your feet and why do you smell like bar”, and “where are your shoes” are probably all questions that are more urgent.

Willy laughs. “Oh Zachy, I didn’t take my key to the bar! I wouldn’t wanna lose it!” His voice is loud and Zach flinches. He quickly pulls Willy inside and closes the door; hopes his apartment mutes the noise better than the empty hallway.

Willy giggles as Lady pushes her nose into his leg, then sway-walks towards the couch and fall down onto it, face first. He hums something into the pillow that Zach can’t quite make out.

“William?” he says carefully, kneeling next to the couch and lightly pressing the palm of his hand onto Willy’s shoulder. “You okay there?”

“No.” Willy turns his head away from the pillow, so he can talk. He’s staring right at Zach with his piercing blue eyes, and he looks a little sad.

Zach hates it with every fiber of his being.

“The boys were upset,” Willy says, earnestly. “They wanted to see you, to meet my…” He cuts himself off. “So, yeah, they took me out to make me happy. But I don’t think it worked.”

It makes very little sense, but Zach still feels his stomach swirl with what it _could _mean, if he read between the lines.

He doesn’t dwell on that.

“Why are you sad?” he asks instead.

Willy smiles again, and this time Willy looks _really _sad, because Willy’s smile are never anything but beaming, and now it’s dull.

“Because you left, Hymie,” he hums. “I waited for you after the game, but you never showed.”

And. _Oh_. That’s…

Now Zach hates _himself _with every fiber of his being.

“I didn’t know,” he says softly. He moves his hand to Willy’s neck, because he knows it always relaxes him; now, too, the muscles there lose their tension, and Willy’s eyes flutter shut. “I didn’t know you wanted me to wait. I would’ve waited, Will, if I’d known.”

Zach thinks he’d have waited forever, if he thought there was even the slightest chance.

“’Sssokay,” Willy mumbles. He’s half asleep, doesn’t even move when Lady jumps up onto the couch and lays down in the crook of Willy’s knees. “It’s okay, Zachy. Do you mind if I stay?” He sounds strangely vulnerable and more awake than Zach originally thought; even though his eyes stay closed, there’s an edge of something to his voice, something Zach finds hard to place.

“Of course not,” Zach says, too quickly maybe, and definitely too honest.

“It’s just that I always seem to come to you,” Willy whispers. “You never come to me, you know? And that’s okay, I just, I don’t wanna bother you, if you don’t want…” He cuts himself off abruptly, almost like he fell asleep halfway through his sentence, but Zach knows him well enough to notice the tight set of his jaw, and he knows Willy is not asleep.

He also knows his heart is in a million pieces, at the idea that he made Willy feel like Zach maybe didn’t want him around.

Zach _always _wants Willy around, and it feels imperial that Willy knows that, suddenly.

“Will,” Zach says softly, but surely. “You could never bother me. I want you with me all the time. If it was up to me, you’d never leave.”

The words aren’t fully out of his mouth yet or Zach worries that he’s said too much, that Willy is gonna open his eyes and go “that’s a bit creepy, bro” and walk away, but Willy does no such thing.

Instead, he smiles, a small little smile that feels private, somehow, but real, and he inhales deeply and then his features soften.

“Okay,” he slurs, and now he truly _is _nearly asleep. “Night, Zachy.”

“Goodnight, Willy,” Zach answers. Willy doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flinch, and Zach forces himself to stand up.

Very carefully, he drapes a blanket over Willy’s body, making sure to leave Lady’s snout clear so she can breathe. She looks completely content, curled up into Willy’s body, and Zach can’t blame her.

He’d wanna stay with him, too, if he could.

But Willy _was _a little drunk, and Zach would never hold anything he says while drunk against him, certainly wouldn’t allow himself to believe it means something.

So he gets a trashcan and puts it next to Willy’s head – just in case, because this rug is one of a kind – and puts some water and aspirins on the coffee table. Then he flicks off the lights, and goes to his own bed.

He falls asleep still hearing Willy’s words on repeat in his mind.

When Zach wakes up, the house is eerily quiet. A quick glance at his phone tells him it’s 9am, so he’s not surprised that Willy is still knocked out on the couch when he walks in.

Lady stirs. She’s still on the couch, but when she sees Zach, she walks up to him and licks his hand, then runs to the kitchen.

She’s learned Zach’s routine. Coffee first, walks second. Maybe, if Zach is late, he’ll take his coffee on the walk.

Like the first time he met Willy.

Zach pats into the kitchen and tries to be quiet while he makes his coffee. Lady pitter patters impatiently, and he figures if he wants to give Willy some more peace and quiet to sleep he should take her out right away, so he takes his coffee on the walk.

It’s a little bit like a flashback, almost, except Willy is on Zach’s couch now, and not in the lobby.

When he comes back 30 minutes later, the apartment is not so quiet anymore, and the kitchen not so clean.

There’s pots and pans everywhere and half of Zach’s fridge is out on the counter.

“Hi,” Willy says, cheeks red and hair a mess. He’s holding a saucepan like he’s got no idea what to do with it. “I wanted to make you breakfast, but I can’t find… Anything, really.”

Zach’s cheeks flame equally red for very different reasons. Willy is wearing only his boxers and a shirt, not his jeans from last night, and Zach needs a glass of water and some time to lie down.

“I can do it,” Zach says, and he starts rummaging through the contents of his fridge, stalled out on the counter tops. “You make more coffee.”

“Okay.” The silence between them is a tinge awkward, and Zach can’t figure out why exactly. It never usually is, with them.

Surely if Willy was upset about something, he’d just go back to his own apartment, instead of waiting on Zach’s coffee maker in his underwear.

But there must be _something _up with Willy, because he’s quiet, and Willy is never quiet.

“How’s the head?” Zach finally asks, carefully.

“Oh, it’s good.” Willy smiles a little. “Thanks for the aspirin. I needed it. I didn’t need the bucket, though, so that’s good.”

Zach can’t help but laugh. He puts some bread in the toaster, because Willy once told him having bread for breakfast is normal in Scandinavian countries, and although Zach prefers his yoghurt and granola combo, he can be a good host.

“I, uhm, I have to apologize,” Willy continues, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, stares tentatively at the toaster and refuses to meet Zach’s eyes. “I’m sorry for showing up here at 2 am.”

Zach doesn’t tell him it was 3am.

“And I’m sorry for… for what I said.”

It feels like there’s a knife being jabbed between Zach’s ribs.

_Of course he’s sorry for what he said, of course he didn’t mean it, how could you think_…

“Or, not for what I said,” Willy says then, as if he can read the panic on Zach’s face. “But for the way I said it? Or when I said it? I don’t know, it’s just…” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’ve been told I can be too much, sometimes, and I think last night I was too much. So I’m sorry, for that.”

Zach would like to know _who _told Willy he can be too much, and then he would like to punch that fucker in the face.

“You’re not,” he says, instead. “Too much. For me. Ever.”

Willy looks at him now, his blue eyes filled with something. Hope? Zach is not quite sure, but he thinks maybe there’s something there.

And he thinks about Brownie, suddenly, about what he said. _Pine uselessly. You find a way to not be happy_.

And he thinks…

He needs to be sure, at least.

“Do you remember what I said last night?” he blurts out.

Willy is fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, but now he stills, and he sound firm when he says: “I wasn’t that drunk, Zach. I remember. But you don’t have to… If you said it because I was drunk and weak, and you just wanted to say something nice, that’s okay. If you didn’t mean it, I mean, that’s not really okay with me, I guess, but I can learn how to make that okay. You don’t have to feel like you _have _to be nice to me or keep me around or anything.”

Zach thinks if his eyes got any wider, they’d pop out of his head.

And for once in his life, Zach lets go off whatever doubts and fears are already creeping into his mind, and he decides to just blurt it out.

“What if I do mean it, though? Would that be okay too?”

Willy’s eyes widen too, but in a different way. Suddenly he’s standing and within two big steps, he’s in front of Zach, lips slightly parted as he stares.

Zach stares back, because he’s not backing down right now, not until Willy says something.

Willy doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he reaches up, hand resting in the crook of Zach’s neck and his fingers lightly pressed onto his jaw. He’s standing close enough that Zach could count all his individual eyelashes, if he tried.

“That would be more than okay,” Willy says, finally, his voice soft and slow. “What about this, is this okay?”

And Zach _knows _he’s not reading this wrong, not with the way the corners of Willy’s mouth are curled up, his eyes searching Zach’s face.

Zach leans in and presses their lips together.

Willy kisses him back right away, his other hand coming up to cup Zach’s face as well. It starts out slow and tentative, both of them a little unsure. And it’s Willy, who breaks out of that first, swipes his tongue across Zach’s bottom lip in a daring attempt to deepen the kiss.

Zach lets him. Zach would let him do pretty much anything, he thinks.

He curls his hands around Willy’s waist, pulls their hips closer together. A surprised noise escapes Willy’s throat, and then Zach can feel him smiling into the kiss.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard, this quickly, in his _life_, which is even more embarrassing considering the fact that he’s 27 years old.

The toast pops.

The noise scares both of them to the point that they jump apart, a little yelp escaping Zach’s throat. They’re still tethered together by Willy’s hand, that is firmly clasped around Zach’s bicep.

“It’s the toast,” Zach says dryly, and that’s when they both start laughing.

“Oh God,” Willy giggles; he lets himself fall against Zach’s chest and buries his face in Zach’s neck. “Did we just get cockblocked by our breakfast?”

Zach curls his arm around Willy, takes his weight. He feels a little floaty and he thinks it’s happiness.

“I told you yoghurt is the superior breakfast,” he grumbles. “Yoghurt would’ve never scared us like that.”

“You’re wrong,” Willy laughs. He presses a kiss to Zach’s jaw, then steps away and plucks the toast out of the toaster. “Bread is the best breakfast, and I’m hungry.” Then, he winks.

“Don’t worry, though, we can just continue this later. I’ve got all day.”

_I’ve got the rest of my life_, Zach thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

He remembers it, though. Could be a good line for the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy ending... or... is it...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some smut and some angst for your entertainment. To balance out the fluff.

Things are like, really good.

Like, so good that Zach almost wonders if they’re _too _good, but then he hears Brownie’s voice in his head and he tries to focus on something else.

Something like Willy. Or his absurd ideas about furnishing an apartment.

“It’s just, the flow isn’t right, you know?”

Willy is frowning, his arms crossed as he stands in the middle of his living room. Zach is slouched on Willy’s couch, feet on the coffee table.

“What flow, William?” he says, a little exasperated. It’s just, Willy has been at this for hours. “You own a couch, a TV, a coffee table and a bookcase with three books. How can it _flow_?”

“A bookcase with three books that _wobbles_, Zachy,” Willy teases. “I swear, you can’t even build furniture, what do I keep you around for?”

“To tell you that your dumb interior design ideas are dumb,” Zach states.

“They’re not dumb, and they’re not ideas. They’re ancient laws of feng shui, and Kappy said I should pay attention to it.”

Zach wants to murder Kappy, for putting this idea into Willy’s head.

“I don’t need _more _furniture,” Willy continues - as Zach knew he was going to say, because he’s been continuing this rant for what feels like two weeks – “I just need it to flow better.”

“Furniture doesn’t flow, William.”

“It does, Zachary,” Willy mimics Zach’s tone.

He sighs and falls into the couch, fits himself into Zach’s side easily. If Zach thought Willy was tactile before, he had no idea; now, whenever they’re in the same room, Willy is there next to him, touching him in some way.

Innocently, sometimes; a hand on his back as he passes him in the kitchen, shoulders pressed together when they play video games, holding Zach’s hand while he drives.

Less innocently, a lot of the time, too.

But Willy isn’t really focused on Zach, right now, which is damn shame, if you ask Zach.

“My place needs, like…” Willy pauses. “The right energy. Harmony.”

Zach realizes he’s reading from his phone.

“It needs to be inviting and open. Homes need to be vibrant, energetic, filled with clarity and precision. It needs…”

“Jesus Christ,” Zach groans.

Willy blinks. “If we need him, I don’t think Google is gonna cut it, we need to find a priest.”

Zach bursts out laughing, and Willy looks quietly pleased, like he always does when he makes Zach laugh. 

Zach drops his nose into Willy’s hair, and closes his eyes. Willy’s shampoo smells like coconut and mimosa, which Zach only knows because Willy told him so, and it’s a scent that brings Zach comfort, now, like a Pavlovian reflex.

“Why do we need to put so much energy into the flow of your furniture?” he mutters into Willy’s hair. “We’re always at my place.”

“Well, yeah, that’s why I’m doing this.” Willy shifts, moves onto his back with his head on Zach’s thigh, eyes bright as he looks up at him. “You say I need to spend more time at my own place because I keep distracting you from writing your book, so I’m thinking if I make this place more inviting and open and vibrant and energetic and whatever the fuck else this website says, maybe I won’t hate being here so much.”

He’s frowning, a little, and Zach reaches to tangle his hand in Willy’s hair. Willy lightly pushes into the touch, as Zach knew he would, and seems to relax a little.

Zach hates that he told Willy that he needs more alone time, but he still stands by it. Willy is distracting by just being Willy, and Zach isn’t strong enough to withstand the magnetic pull. He’s never going to get this chapter finished and sent off the the publisher if he can’t keep his hands off Willy for two seconds.

But this, this isn’t worth it.

“How about,” Zach offers carefully, “you just stay at my place with Lady, and I go write at the coffee shop? You know I love writing there, and that way, you wouldn’t be alone in a house with no chi.” He grins. “And Lady loves you the most, anyway.”

Willy’s frown only deepens. “I’m not kicking you out of your own house, Zachy, even if your dog _does _love me better.”

A week ago, Zach wouldn’t have dreamed of saying what he’s about to say, but now he doesn’t even question it.

“Maybe I like knowing that I’ll get to go home to you.”

The frown smooths out as Willy’s face softens. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why?”

“Because now I have to kiss you, and then you’ll be distracted again.”

Zach doesn’t mind the distraction, this time.

\--

“He’s just, he’s really great, you know?” Zach rambles. “And I feel like I can be myself? Like he wouldn’t judge me. And we spend a lot of time together, and normally I would stress out about that, like, maybe he’d get sick of me, but I’m not really stressing out right now…”

“Are you sure?” Spencer interrupts dryly. “Cause you do sound stressed, bro.”

Zach sighs. As usual, Spencer sees right through him even despite the blurry FaceTime screen almost completely hiding Zach’s features. But then again, that’s why Zach called him, really.

“I just… Spence, do you think I sabotage my own happiness?”

Zach intends it to be a heavy question, fully prepared himself to give Spencer some thinking time, but Spencer answers within a second.

“Yes.”

Zach flinches, and _that _must be visible, because Spencer’s voice softens.

“It’s okay, bro, we all do it sometimes. Just, you maybe a little more than others, you know? You seem to always have the outcome pictured before anything has even started yet, and you kinda create your own outcome that way.”

_Cool. In other words, you’re standing between yourself and your own dreams_. _Good to know everything that’s previously been messed up in Zach’s life was his own fault. _

“I’m trying,” Zach pauses, ponders his words. “I’m trying very hard to not do that, with William, I guess?”

“Good for you, Zach,” Spencer says, and he sounds earnest and happy for Zach, no hint of teasing. “You deserve this, and you need to allow yourself to have it, okay?”

“Okay,” Zach says, and he fully intends to allow himself to have Willy, to get his happily ever after.

But that night Willy turns to him halfway through the movie they’re watching and says, very seriously: “We have to talk about something important.”

Instantly, Zach’s heart is beating in his throat, and it feels like the air isn’t fully reaching his lungs anymore.

Willy reaches out to take the remote, mute the movie. Zach _really _doesn’t like that look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” he manages to ask, and his voice is shaking.

“Oh, God, babe, no.” Willy’s voice is tender and soft. “It’s nothing bad, I promise.” He tangles his fingers with Zach’s and squeezes his hand, and some of the tension slips from Zach’s shoulders.

“But we’ve got a roadtrip coming up.” He looks expectantly at Zach, as if that should mean something, but this isn’t his first roadtrip since they’ve gotten together and Zach really doesn’t know what’s happening, right now. “To Buffalo. And then Boston.”

Oh. Now Zach gets where this is going.

His face must turn sour, because Willy chuckles. “Exactly. That’s why we need to talk about it.”

It’s just, Zach can’t help it, okay? He knows Willy and Pasta are friends. They play Fortnite together sometimes, with Alex Nylander too, and Zach has been there while they play and there’s nothing but friendly banter going on. He knows they’re _just _friends.

But he still doesn’t like Pasta.

It’s just how it is; when the guy you’re hopelessly in love with has dated another dude, you don’t like that dude. Even if it was just a summer thing and it didn’t mean anything. Even if it involved “very few feelings, just a lot of sex”, as Willy has described it.

Because yeah, they have talked about it before. Zach clearly loves to torture himself, and they were watching a Bruins/Hawks game together when he suddenly heard himself say: “Were you in love with him?”

The answer had been “no, but I’m in love with you”, and then they had amazing sex on the couch and Zach let it go.

But Willy is probably right to bring this up now, because if Zach had found out that the Leafs were playing in Boston when they were already there, he can only imagine the kind of mental breakdown he’d be having.

“Zach,” Willy says, and it’s _Zach_, not Zachy or Hyms or Hymie or babe, which means Willy really is serious about this. “Look. Honesty is the most important thing in a relationship to me, you know that.”

Zach does. They had that conversation too. Willy values honesty, and his love language is physical touch. Zach likes that too, but his love language is affirmative words, and he thinks communication about expectations is key.

“And I think it’s very important that we’re completely honest about this, because we play the Bruins a lot, and I’m really gonna hate myself if I find out later that you’re at home moping any time I’m getting my face pummeled into the ground by Chara.”

Zach frowns. “Don’t you dare. I like your face.”

Willy grins. “I like my face too. Not the point.”

And it isn’t, and Zach knows he’s stalling, so he makes the conscious decision to stop. “Thanks, Will, I appreciate you saying that and I appreciate you bringing this up.” He sighs. “Look, I’m never gonna like it when you’re around him. I just can’t… I just won’t.”

Willy’s face falls, and Zach touches his knee, lightly.

“But I trust you, and I know this is your job. So I’ll learn how to deal with that, okay? I know you’ll be honest with me about what it means…”

“Nothing,” Willy interrupts, and Zach smiles before continuing his sentence.

“…and as long as you remind me every now and then that I don’t have anything to worry about, I’ll try not to worry.”

Willy immediately leaps up and all but throws himself in Zach’s lap, his hands coming up to cup Zach’a face.

“You have _nothing_ to worry about,” he says, and there’s a fierceness in his voice that makes Zach’s heart somersault. “Because I wanna be with _you_, and not anyone else.”

“Good,” Zach whispers. “Cause I wanna be with you, too.”

There’s something nagging in the back of his mind, a little voice that reminds him he’s not been _entirely _truthful with Willy. That there’s still something to tell him. Or show him, rather.

About 20k words, Zach thinks.

But then Willy’s lips are against his own and Willy is grinding down in his lap and Zach thinks he can just deal with that later. He _will _tell Willy that his next book is basically about him, he just needs a little more time to figure out how.

Right now, Willy is kissing him hard, and it’s clear that it’s a kiss that’s meant to lead to more. Zach lets his hands slip under Willy’s shirt, finds smooth skin there under his fingertips.

“Will,” he mumbles, trying to form a coherent thought that is not just _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod_, as Willy’s lips find his neck and suck harshly, then lick softly. Zach can’t surpress a moan. “William.”

Willy looks up, pupils blown wide. His lips are red and Zach has to squeeze his eyes shut to get his sentence out.

“We should go to the bedroom.”

Willy raises an eyebrow, challenging. “Why, this not good enough for you, Hyms?”

Zach truly thought that Willy’s ability to chirp him mid sex would lose its appeal quickly, but it hasn’t. Even the stupid use of his nickname doesn’t bother him anymore.

Everything Willy does is golden, to Zach, which is probably a problem, but definitely a problem for another day.

“Anywhere is good enough for me,” he says, and his voice sounds remarkably steady. Zach is proud of that. “But the last time you blew me, you complained about your knees hurting for two days.”

“That was in the kitchen,” Willy shrugs. “And am I misunderstanding, or is this your very backward way of asking me to blow you?”

Zach flushes, a little. He hadn’t meant for it to sound that way, he was just trying to be considerate.

Willy laughs, brightly, and then presses a chaste kiss to Zach’s lips.

“Got ya, babe,” he says with his voice low, and Zach tries very hard to exhale through his nose as Willy sinks to his knees between Zach’s legs.

Zach throws him a pillow off the couch and Willy rolls his eyes, but he does prop the pillow under his knees, so Zach will take that as a win.

Willy hooks his fingers under the waistband of Zach’s sweatpants and strokes the skin there.

“Take off your shirt,” he orders, and Zach hurries to obey.

Willy starts kissing the skin just above Zach’s waistband, then tauntingly slowly pulls his sweatpants down.

“Willy,” Zach groans, and he leans his head back against the couch. If he looks at Willy right now, it’s gonna be over embarrassingly soon.

And Zach doesn’t want that, because Willy’s mouth is magical.

“Yeah?” Willy teases. He finally gets the sweatpants down, nips at the skin of Zach’s thighs just where his boxers end. “Problem?” he continues, and Zach knows if he looked down right now Willy would be innocently blinking up at him.

He very deliberately doesn’t look down.

Zach stays quiet, and Willy seems more than content to continue his quest of marking up Zach’s thighs, biting softly, then soothing with his tongue and lips.

It feels like ages before Zach decides he can’t take it any more. His dick is so hard it’s almost painful, and he just _wants_, and wants and wants and wants.

“William,” he pleads, and God, his voice sounds wrecked, and he’s not even done anything. “Can you…”

“Can I?” Willy repeats, because he’s a little shit, and he likes to make Zach say it.

“Do something,” Zach breathes out, and the words aren’t out of his mouth yet or Willy licks a stripe up his dick, then presses a kiss to the head before pulling away.

“Something like that?” he asks, and now Zach does catch his eyes when he blinks up him, and Zach thinks he could lose it right now, if he let himself.

Instead, he just begs.

“Yeah, I want, that, Willy, more of that, please.”

“Well,” Willy says, and he sounds content, “because you said please.”

He takes Zach’s dick in his mouth then, finally stops teasing and just gets right to it. His mouth really is magic, and it doesn’t take that long until Zach is moaning, his thighs trembling a little as he tries to drag it out as long as he can.

“Will,” he bites out, and Willy hums in response, but he doesn’t stop his mouth. The vibrations are enough to push Zach over the edge, and he comes with a low groan, watches as Willy swallows it down.

Zach’s limbs feel like jelly, and he can’t do anything but watch as Willy gets up, wipes his mouth and crawls onto the couch next to Zach. Zach catches his mouth in a lazy kiss, and when Willy audibly whines into the kiss, he realizes Willy must be pretty hard, too.

“I’ll get you back,” he mumbles, “just, give me a minute…”

“Really not necessary,” Willy says, his voice strangled and his breathing coming out in harsh, labored puffs. “Just…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, and Zach only then notices that he’s got his own hand on his dick, jerking himself off fast.

Which, Zach might be still in his blissful post-orgasm haste, but that seems unfair, so he replaces Willy’s hand with his own.

It’s not Zach’s most finesse handjob, but it seems to do the trick, cause Willy comes with a strangled moan, then sinks into Zach’s chest as if someone cut his strings.

Zach wraps his arms around Willy’s body, keeps him there, even though he doesn’t think Willy was planning on moving.

“We should shower,” he finally says after what feels like hours, but was probably only 10 minutes or so.

“Hmm,” Willy hums. His eyes are closed and his breathing is even and slow, like he’s halfway to sleep.

“Shower, then bed,” Zach says, and he tangles his fingers in Willy’s hair and tugs. It has the intended effect, because Willy opens his eyes and looks up at him.

There’s a sea of emotion swimming in the bright blue of Willy’s eyes, and Zach can’t help but blurt out: “I’m gonna miss you.”

It’s only 5 days, and it’s not that big a deal, so he’s probably being too clingy and too obvious, but Willy takes it in stride. In fact, when he says: “I’m gonna miss you too,” he sounds just as affected.

It’s nice, to know that Zach isn’t alone in this. Not that he thought he was, but – he can read Willy like a book, but it’s still nice to hear the words said to him. It’s nice to never be left guessing.

“Right, bed,” Willy says then, and he doesn’t sound so sleepy anymore. Then he smirks a devilish grin that stirs something in Zach’s dick. “I think we should do bed then shower, because when we’re in the bed, I want you to fuck me, and that would kinda defeat the purpose of the shower, probably.”

Zach groans.

“You’re trying to kill me.”

Willy stands up, starts walking towards Zach’s bedroom. He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that’s probably meant to be seductive, but is just really dorky, in the end.

Zach is so in love with this guy he can’t even believe himself.

“Come on, Zachy,” Willy calls over his shoulder, and Zach pushes himself off the couch.

“Coming.”

\--

Zach wakes up and the bed is empty.

It’s not a rare occurrence, because Willy’s sleep schedule is very different from Zach’s. Willy is used to napping for a few hours in the afternoon, so he gets up early and goes to bed late. Zach usually goes to bed early so he can get early, but Willy has been keeping him up late, so Zach has been sleeping in.

So, it’s not a rare occurrence that Willy is already up and running when Zach wakes up, but it is a damn shame, because Zach loves waking up to Willy.

He likes how angelic Willy looks in the morning sun, blonde hair sprawled out over the pillow, face completely peaceful. He likes watching Willy’s chest rise and fall with every breath. And he particularly likes tangling his legs with Willy and curling into his body, pressing kisses to his jaw and neck until Willy wakes up and kisses him back.

Zach stretches out and lays on his back. For a moment, he just lets himself enjoy the morning haze. It’s 10am and he can’t hear Lady, so he thinks Willy must’ve already gone outside with her.

He honestly couldn’t have chosen a more perfect guy if he tried.

And later today, Willy is leaving on a 5 day roadtrip.

The thought is enough to force Zach out of bed, because it makes him want to kiss Willy, which he cannot do from here.

His bare feet are loud on the hardwood floor as he pats towards the living room.

He expects to find Willy laying on the couch, nose buried in his phone while he drinks coffee and absently pets Lady’s head, somehow all at the same time. He expects Willy to look up when he enters, eyes bright and happy. He expects a “morning, baby,” to welcome him into the room.

He gets none of those. Willy is on the couch, but he’s sitting bend forward with his chin in his hands, and he’s staring at something on the coffee table.

“Will?” Zach asks, frowning.

The look on Willy’s face is… a little terrifying. There’s absolutely no emotion there, when he looks up at Zach, and that’s when Zach focuses on whatever is on the coffee table.

When he realizes, his heart sinks into his knees.

It feels like someone knocked the wind out of him, and he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.

“I didn’t mean to read it all,” Willy says, solemnly. “I was just gonna read the first few pages, but then…”

_But then I noticed you wrote this all about me, and you didn’t tell me_, Zach fills in.

“Willy…”

But Zach doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Willy interrupts, his voice almost scarily calm.

“You wrote about us.”

Zach feels like he’s going to throw up. He hadn’t meant to leave the first two chapters out there, printed on paper for Willy to see. He’d just printed it to send to his publisher, he’d just forgotten to put it away.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he _did _write about Willy.

“I did.” He swallows, tries to get rid of the lump in his throat. It doesn’t work.

Willy stands up and starts pacing through the room. He’s tugging at his hair, which Zach has learned is a nervous habit.

A few times, Willy opens his mouth then snaps it shut again. Zach stands there, and waits. He figures it’s just a matter of time before the bomb bursts.

He’s not wrong.

“This can’t get out,” Willy says, finally, and now there’s an edge of panic to his voice. “Zach, you can’t write about me. It’s not a secret that I’m bi, but it’s not something the general public knows. And they can’t know.”

“Oh my God, Will, I would never _out _you,” Zach starts, but Willy laughs, a laugh completely devoid of humor.

“Zach, you’re writing a gay love story, and one of the people in it is a Swedish hockey player with blonde hair named Will. What do _you _think is gonna happen?” He groans. “Dude, you even wrote about my Gucci suitcase!”

Zach flushes. “I wasn’t gonna keep the name,” he says. “The name is gonna change, I just wasn’t sure what to change it to yet. And I can take out the suitcases!”

Willy stops pacing. He finally looks up at Zach, and Zach gets hit with the sheer force of emotion behind that look.

Willy doesn’t look angry, he looks sad. Maybe even heartbroken.

Zach feels his soul crumple.

“That’s not really the point, though, is it?” Willy says softly. “The point is I’ve asked you about this book, and you said you didn’t know what it was about. But you did know. It’s about me, and about us, and you didn’t tell me.” His voice cracks at the end of the sentence, and his eyes go a little glassy. “You didn’t tell me.”

_“Honestly is the most important thing in a relationship, Zachy_,” Zach can hear Willy’s voice. “_If you don’t have honesty, you really have nothing_.”

Zach supposes in Willy’s world, they have nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out. “Will, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you…”

“Were you?” Willy asks, eyes narrowing. “Were you going to tell me?”

And Zach doesn’t answer. He doesn’t answer because he wants to say yes, but that would mean lying to Willy again.

“I wanted to tell you,” he mends, and there’s a certain understanding behind Willy’s defeated look.

“But you didn’t,” he says, and he sounds sorrowful.

It’s clear to Zach, then.

He’s losing the fight. He’s losing Willy, right now, like sand slipping through his fingers, and he has no idea what to do to stop it.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, because it’s the only thing he _can _say, and Willy shrugs.

“I believe that,” he says. “I just don’t know if it’s enough, Zach.”

And Zach knows that, because Zach knows Willy pretty well, by now, and he knows how much Willy cares about trust. How much he needs to know that he can depend on someone.

Zach has always seen himself as a dependable guy, but he sees why Willy disagrees, right now.

He supposes self sabotaging isn’t as easily thrown overboard as he thought it was.

“William,” Zach whispers, and his voice is breaking, but he needs to say something, do something. “Please. Please don’t.”

He doesn’t exactly make sense, but he thinks Willy knows what he means. However, Willy’s face is closed off, and his voice is clipped when he says: “I can’t, Zach, I just can’t.”

That doesn’t make sense either, but Zach has no trouble grasping the meaning.

The lump in Zach’s throat has grown in size to the point where he genuinely doesn’t think he can stop the oncoming waterfall of tears.

There’s really only one thing he can say, that could maybe make a difference. Although he doesn’t expect it to.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t look up, keeps staring at floor. He’s not ready to see the look on Willy’s face as that information hits. He doesn’t know what he fears seeing the most: indifference, hurt, betrayal.

Anything but reciprocation.

There’s footsteps, and then Willy’s feet appear in Zach’s line of sight. He’s wearing his sneakers, which means he’s been planning to get out of the apartment.

It’s chivalrous, really, that he stayed and waited until Zach woke up, so he could break up with him in person. Zach almost wishes he hadn’t, and just left a note; then Zach could be crying in peace, right now.

“Zach,” Willy says ruefully, and despite knowing better, Zach looks up and catches his eyes.

There’s nothing there but hurt.

“I need some time, okay?” Willy says. “Let’s talk after the roadtrip.”

Zach supposes that’s fair weather talk for “_Let’s break up after the roadtrip_”, but he’s not in any position to be making demands, so he nods curtly.

Willy reaches out and touches their fingers together, briefly, and it sends a spark of electricity up Zach’s arm. Then, he walks away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, but he doesn’t think Willy hears it anymore. He hears the click of his door falling into the lock and Lady looks up, seemingly confused at what just happened.

Zach somehow makes it to the couch before he breaks down.


	6. Chapter 6

“Dude, you’re being pathetic.” Brownie stares at him with judging eyes, that cut even through the screen of Zach’s phone. “You can’t _watch_ the game. You can’t torture yourself like that!”

“Like hell I can,” Zach grumbles, taking the remote and turning on the sound.

Torturing himself is what Zach does best, he found out. It’s been four days since Willy left – he comes home tomorrow, and Zach could throw up just thinking about it – and so far all Zach has done is torture himself.

First, he reread the chapters he wrote, changed the name of the characters and a bunch of the details that made Willy, very clearly Willy, and then he put it away because he can’t possibly send it to his publisher right now.

He’s also watched the game against Buffalo, reread the past 50 texts in their iMessage thread, stared at all of their pictures, and even – and yes, this is where it gets extremely pathetic - wore Willy’s hoodie and used Willy’s shampoo.

Coconut and mimosa, turns out, doesn’t smell nearly as good on Zach as it does on Willy.

And now he’s going for the ultimate torture tactic; watching the Leafs-Bruins game.

“Do I need to come up there again?” Brownie asks.

Yesterday, Zach had maybe accidentally dropped to Brownie that he hadn’t eaten all day – he’s just not hungry, okay – and Brownie had come over with Chinese food. They’d stuffed their faces, Zach had cried a little, and then they played COD.

It helped, a little, at the time. But as soon as Brownie left, Zach felt just as miserable as before. He supposes that’s what heartbreak does to you.

“Zach,” Brownie says again, and now he sounds genuinely worried, which means Zach is getting dangerously close to Brownie _actually _showing up at his door.

“I’ve eaten,” Zach says, voice monotone, “I’ve walked Lady, I’ve even showered. I’m doing my best, Brownie. It’s just…” He swallows. “I’ve got to see him, okay? I know it’s pathetic, but I _have _to.”

Brownie sighs, but it’s his ‘okay-fine-it’s-your-funeral’ sigh.

“Fine,” he says, as Zach knew he would. “But I’m watching it with you.”

Zach doesn’t mind if Brownie stays on the line. He barely even notices it, to be honest, because that’s when the game starts.

“In net for the Leafs is of course Freddie Andersen, who’s been having a great season…” says the commentator

Brownie makes a little noise, and it’s so predictable, so comfortably what Zach knows, that he even manages a little smile.

“I think I ruined our chance at free tickets again,” he says. “Sorry, Brownie.”

“Dude, shut up.” Zach can nearly hear his eyeroll. “I don’t care about that, I just want you to not be miserable.”

And, well, Zach would like that too, but there are some things that just are what they are, and always will be like that. Like Brownie crushing on Freddie Andersen, and Zach being miserable.

They watch as the puck drops and the game starts. Zach finds it easy, still, to get lost in it, even if he feels something crack in his chest whenever he catches a glimpse of number 88, or hears the commentator say his name.

“William Nylander intercepts, passes to Auston Matthews, Matthews circles around the net, looking for a shooting lane…”

Zach sighs and leans back into the couch, curling his body around Lady. She’s fast asleep, and he wonders if she misses Willy like he does.

Probably not, because she’s a dog, but. There’s a chance.

That thought almost makes him _more _miserable.

“Brownie,” Zach says, watches as Jake Debrusk takes the puck into the Leafs’ zone. “When you said I self sabotage, did you mean this?”

It’s quiet, for a while.

“No,” Brownie says, finally. “I meant you always tell yourself things are gonna go wrong before you even try them.” He pauses again. “Why, do you think you’re self sabotaging?”

Zach thinks about it. He’s been thinking about it a lot, but he still gives himself some time to mull the question over in his head.

“No,” he decides on, finally. “I think I was scared of sharing my book because it’s so personal to me, and I finally figured out what I wanted to write and I was worried that he wouldn’t like it. Or wouldn’t understand it, I guess.”

“Great defensive play by William Nylander,” the commentator croons.

“And I made the wrong decision, I know that. I decided based on that fear, and not on rationality. And you know how much I like rationality, Brownie.”

“I do,” Brownie admits.

“But I don’t…” Zach swallows. “I don’t think I was subconsciously trying to sabotage my relationship with him. Because he makes me happy, you know? He makes me so happy I think even my subconscious was happy.”

Brownie’s voice is careful, when he speaks. “Maybe you should tell him that, Zach.”

Zach doesn’t answer. It’s not like Willy would want to hear it, even if he did manage to find the words to explain.

“And that’s a goaaaaal!” the commentator yells, and the camera zooms in on a very happy looking Bergeron.

Zach’s eyes automatically look for Willy, and they find him; he limps a little as he skates back to the bench, favoring his left leg over his right, and fear takes residence in Zach’s heart.

It’s probably not his place anymore, but he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to let that go.

He watches, then, as the Bruins – that were just celebrating – disperse, go towards their bench to fistbump their teammates. But his eyes find the other 88, as Pasta skates past Willy on his way to the bench.

He doesn’t think many people saw it, because the movement is small and fast, but he sees Pasta lift his stick and tap it against Willy’s legs.

Zach sees the little smile Willy gives.

He feels nauseous, all of a sudden; not because he’s jealous of Pasta, but because he sees nothing but camaraderie in that smile, nothing but a comfortable friendship based on shared experiences and a relatable background.

It’s not like he didn’t believe Willy before, when he said he didn’t feel anything for Pasta, but it’s like it hits him in the face when he sees it like this.

Willy’s heart never belonged to anyone but Zach, until it didn’t anymore. Zach had it, and Zach lost it. He was scared some ghost from Willy’s past would come in and ruin in.

But it turns out he did a fine job of that all by himself.

\--

Willy came back two days ago, and Zach still hasn’t seen him.

He’s basically a wreck, at this point, all nerves and anxiety. He knows he’s not in any position to go up to Willy’s apartment and ask, but he needs to actually be broken up with before he can start the process of healing.

And with healing he means laying on the couch crying for a week straight. Brownie is gonna be so thrilled.

It happens a little serendipitously, in the end.

Zach is coming back from walking Lady. He doesn’t have coffee with him, this time, and it’s 2 in the afternoon, so he’s wearing jeans, but it still feels a little like fate when he walks into the lobby at the same time the elevator doors ping, signaling they’re opening.

Lady whines, barks, and yanks on the leash. Zach, who was mostly in his own head and not prepared for that, drops the leash, and Lady takes off.

Zach doesn’t even need to see who steps out of the elevator, because there’s only one person she’d be wagging her tail for like that.

“Hey, Lady,” Willy coos softly, dropping to his knees. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and his hair is a little messy, and Zach’s stomach aches with how much he misses him.

Willy looks up, and smiles a little tentatively. “Hey, Zach.”

“Hi,” Zach manages to bring out, and he’s proud of himself for sounding only a _little _croaky.

Lady is licking Willy’s hand, and he giggles. “I missed you too,” he says in his high-pitched dog voice.

Zach has no idea what to say, or do. His hands are limping by his side, and he’s staring at his boyfriend – ex boyfriend, maybe? – cuddle his dog, smiling, and he’s trying to process the fact that Willy doesn’t look very upset, and is he _dreaming_?

Finally, after what feels like ages, Willy stands up and turns to Zach.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you,” he says. “I needed some time to think, I guess. And I was kinda hoping you’d come to me for a change.” There’s a little half smile on his face when he says it.

Zach thinks back to that night Willy showed up drunk at his door, showing his insecurities to Zach.

Zach never gave that back to him, but if there was ever a time, it’s probably now.

“I was too scared,” he admits. “I didn’t think you’d want me there. Didn’t think you’d even open the door, to be honest.”

Willy’s face falls. It’s quiet. Then: “I would’ve, for the record. I would’ve opened the door.”

Zach swallows thickly. “Can we just… Do you want to come over and have some coffee?”

Willy’s answer is quick and sure. “Yeah.”

It’s easier than Zach expected, and he’s a little thrown off when Willy simply grabs Lady’s leash and steps right back into the elevator without getting whatever he got down to get. Zach supposes it doesn’t really matter, and follows Willy to his own apartment.

Willy kicks off his shoes and goes to sit at the kitchen table, Lady still at his side. Zach busies himself with making coffee, and it’s painfully similar to the first time they met.

Painfully similar to what Zach wrote about in his book.

And that’s the limit, for Zach. Like the final straw. He can’t even wait for the coffee to be done, he just has to say it, has to say it _now_.

“I really wanted to tell you about the book but I was so fucking scared, Will,” he blurts out, turning so he’s facing in Willy’s direction, even though there’s still the entirety of the kitchen between them. “I was scared because I pour my heart and soul into my books, and this book is my first adult novel and that’s scary, because it could go out there and everyone could hate it and that would mean they hate _me_, as a person, because I put everything I am into my stories. And I thought, I guess, that I could deal with that as long as _you _didn’t hate it, but I knew if you hated it, I couldn’t deal with that. So I just didn’t tell you about it, didn’t let you read it, because then you couldn’t hate it, and then you couldn’t hate me.”

He breathes in, finally; the words came out like a waterfall and his lungs are constricting with the lack of oxygen he’s taking in. He feels a little dizzy, too, but that probably has less to do with the oxygen and more with Willy’s eyes on his.

“But that was wrong, because you deserved to know. Not only because yeah, that story is based on us, and on you, but also because you deserve to know me like that. If there’s anyone I want to know me like that, it would be you. So I’m sorry, for not telling you. And I’m sorry that you had to find out the way you did.”

Willy stands, now, slowly pushes himself up from the chair. But he’s not coming closer, and Zach needs to power through this, because if he stops, he doesn’t know if he will find the courage to continue.

“But I need you to know that I really was planning on changing the names and the details that were too obvious. I would never want to get you in trouble, Will.”

Willy takes a step closer. His face is completely unreadable, and Zach hates that he can’t see what Willy is thinking.

He supposes it doesn’t matter much, anyway. He needs to say what he needs to say.

So he takes a deep breath, and says it.

“William, I did you wrong by not telling you about the story, and I’m sorry about that. But I’m not sorry I wrote about us. Because I write about my life, and my dreams, and that’s you. You are my dream.”

Willy takes another step closer and now his toes are almost touching Zach’s. He blinks, reaches out and puts one hand on the counter, next to Zach’s body.

Zach can feel the kitchen counter digging into his ass, and he can feel Willy’s warm breath on his face when he exhales. He can also feel his heart beating in his throat and his palms sweating. He feels it all, and he has no idea what Willy is feeling, and it’s terrifying, but at least it’s _something_.

At least Zach knows he tried to fight for what he wants, this time. He didn’t sabotage himself. He gave himself a fighting chance.

“How does it end?” Willy asks. His voice is low and gruff, and it hits Zach somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. “The story,” he elaborates, “how does the story of us end?”

“I have no idea,” Zach admits, and it’s the truth. He’s not been able to even think about the book since Willy walked out of his apartment.

“I’m a sucker for a happy ending.” Willy narrows his eyes. “Is the book gonna have a happy ending, Zachy?”

And it’s that little _y _added to the end of Zach’s name, that lights something in Zach’s veins.

Something like hope.

“I sure hope it will,” he breathes, and that’s when Willy leans in and presses his lips against Zach’s.

Zach has used many cliches, in his writing career, but he never understood what people meant when they said ‘the kiss made fireworks go off in his stomach’, until now.

He can feel himself go slack against Willy, but Willy holds his weight easily, circles his arms around Zach and lets him sink into his chest. He deepens the kiss, and Zach feels dizzy with it; with the feeling of Willy, the smell of him, the sounds.

With Willy, all around him.

“No more secrets,” Willy whispers against Zach’s lips, when Zach reluctantly lets him pull away, but only a little bit. Their foreheads are still pressed together and Zach doesn’t think he’ll ever be willing to let Willy get any further away than this. “Zach, you need to promise to talk to me, about things. I can’t… I can’t do this again.”

“Never,” he promises, and he means it, too, “I’ll never hurt you like that again, Will, I promise.”

“Good,” Willy smiles. “Cause, fuck, these past few days…”

“Were awful,” Zach finishes, at the same time Willy says: “Royally sucked.”

“I love you,” Zach whispers against Willy’s lips. “Willy, I love you.”

The reply comes easily: “I love you too, Zachy.”

Willy sounds completely content as he says it, and he seems equally content to let Zach kiss him senseless against the kitchen counter, then push him towards the bedroom. He’s giggling when Zach tries to get rid of his pants so quickly he tangles himself in it and nearly trips.

“Smooth,” he laughs, and Zach presses against his chest until Willy lets himself fall back onto the bed, then crawls into Willy’s lap.

“That’s why you love me,” Zach mumbles, between the kisses he presses against Willy’s throat.

“Hmm,” Willy hums. His Adam’s apple bops as he hums, and Zach presses a kiss there, too.

“Zach?” Willy mumbles then, softly, and his tone is pressing enough that Zach – reluctantly – holds his quest of kissing every inch of Willy’s soft, smooth skin, and instead looks up to find two bright blue eyes already looking at him.

“Yes, Will?”

“Is this going to be in the book?”

Zach groans, drops his head into the crook of Willy’s neck, as Willy’s laughter echoes around him, and he thinks: _I couldn’t be happier right now._

Zach writes books, and his book always have happy endings.

He thinks maybe he deserves one too.


	7. Epilogue

The room is busy, and there’s a wide arrange of people there.

There’s a bunch of people from Zach’s publishing company, as well as his editor. Zach’s family is in attendance, even Oliver, who’s response to being invited was: “Wait, you wrote a book?” Brownie is there, along with a few of Zach’s other University of Michigan friends.

And then there’s the hockey players.

They stand out like a sore thumb, at this place, all huddled together, a wall of muscles and bad hair and very few teeth, dressed in suits too expensive for their own good.

Zach can’t help but smile as he watches them chug champagne.

“Is William over there?” his mom asks, craning her neck. “I haven’t seen him yet.”

It’s no surprise, Zach thinks, that Willy is so popular with Zach’s family. Willy radiates light, and laughter, and everyone in the world would be lucky to spend even a minute in his presence.

Zach still doesn’t always understand why Willy chose _him _to bless with all of his love and attention, all the time, but he sure isn’t complaining.

“I told you, mom, Willy’s family is visiting, so he’s busy,” Zach says patiently. He’s not seen much of Willy today, but that makes sense: Willy is busy with all of his siblings, and Zach is busy with, you know, being at his own release party.

Everyone has been wanting to talk to him, but he’s mostly talked to the business people, so far.

Now it’s time for family and friends.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” Zach’s mom says; for the millionth time that night, but Zach appreciates it nonetheless.

“Yeah, I’m so proud of you too, honey,” Shane echoes, because Shane is a pest, but Zach grins and ruffles his hair, which earns him a very satisfying yelp.

“I can’t believe you got Auston Matthews at your book release party,” Cooper says, with wide eyes. He looks in awe, but also a little scared, which Zach has learned is most peoples’ reaction to Auston Matthews.

Zach understands the feeling, but the novelty kinda wore off for him when he saw Auston after getting back together with Willy, and Auston’s first words were: “Oh thank _God _you’re back, Willy was so fricking clingy, and he kept cockblocking me and Mitchy, like nobody can have sex if he isn’t having sex.”

Nothing like hearing all the details about someone’s sex life to make them feel more like a normal person.

He glances over at the hockey corner, as he’s calling it in his head, where Auston is standing leaning against the wall, looking awkward as hell and like he’s not at all listening to what Mitch is excitedly chattering about. Mo is there too, and he seems to be listening, so at least Mitchy isn’t talking to nobody.

There’s some other guys too, guys that Zach met later. Rasmus Sandin, Andreas Johnsson, and Travis Dermott.

Freddie is there, too. Zach knows this because he went to talk to Brownie, but Brownie was talking to Freddie, his cheeks a little flushed but a broad smile on his face.

Zach doesn’t really understand how it’s possible for someone as big as Freddie to look soft, but somehow the look in his eyes as he’s staring at Brownie really makes it happen.

He’s happy for his best friend.

And then there’s the person that _should _be standing out like sore thumb even amongst the hockey players, but is not; in fact, David Pastrnak is currently chatting up one of Zach’s college friends, who is twirling her hair around her finger and fluttering her eyelashes, which probably means he’s going to get lucky tonight.

_You’re welcome_, _Pasta_.

Zach truly never thought he’d be friends with Pasta, but then he hadn’t expected Pasta to be the one to talk Willy into making up with Zach instead of breaking up with Zach.

“He said you sounded like a good person, and good people usually have a reason for doing stupid stuff,” Willy had said, the day after they made up, when they were laying in bed and finally talking things through properly. Zach did some more grovelling, and Willy told him to stop, and that Pasta had made him see the light, and would Zach like to know _why _Willy was in Zach’s bed right now? Pasta. So “ha, Zach, told you he was a good friend.”

Zach isn’t afraid to admit his wrongs, there.

“There’s my future brother in law,” a voice says, and it’s Alex Nylander, that appears at Zach’s side. There’s a girl with him, about 12 years old, and she looks up at Zach with wide eyes. “This is Anna, my little sister,” Alex says. “Or, one of many little sisters, I suppose. She read all your books so far, and she’s a big fan.” Alex grins, his eyes a little sharp, but not mean. “I told her she should probably skip this one, what do you think?”

Zach thinks about the… _raunchy_ scene, he put in there, and flushes. “Probably,” he agrees, easily. He sees Alex grin at his obvious blush, but he doesn’t sweat it; he’s learned Alex’s bark is meaner than his bite, and he likes to rile up Zach, but he also _loves _to use Zach to rile up Willy, which is usually very entertaining.

“I can sign your other books, though, if you want?” he asks Anna kindly, and her face lights up.

He really sees the Nylander in her, when she smiles like that.

He spends some time signing books for the Nylander kids while Alex chirps him in the background, and then suddenly two arms wrap around his waist as a warm body presses itself against his back.

Zach smiles.

“Hey, Will.”

“How did you know it was me?” Willy’s voice is muffled by Zach’s suit, as his face is pressed in between his shoulder blades, and Zach laughs.

“Cause nobody else hugs me like a koala.”

“You love it,” Willy grins, letting go of Zach. “So, I see all my siblings” – a pointed look gets sent towards Alex – “are monopolizing my boyfriend’s time?”

“Monopolizing?” Alex parrots. “Geez, William, any more fancy words you wanna throw in?”

“My boyfriend is a college graduate and a bestselling author,” Willy says, sounding very proud and not bothered by Alex’s chirping at all. “I know all kinds of fancy words.”

Zach really, really doesn’t think he does, but he decides to let it go.

“Zach.” It’s Zach’s publisher, that seems to doom up from out of nowhere. “I think you should have a little speech.”

Zach panics a little; he’s not prepared anything, wasn’t aware he’d be doing a speech. But then Willy’s hand settles on his lower back.

“Just talk about me,” he teases, grinning, and something settles calmly inside of Zach.

Like it always does, when Willy is there.

He lets himself be herded to the middle of the room, and waits until his publisher has gotten the room to quiet down and turn their attention towards Zach. Then, the room is completely silent and focused on him, and Zach clears his throat.

“Wow,” he starts, “no offense, but this is really crazy.”

There’s some agreeing hums from the crowd.

“I’ve been writing my whole life. When I started, I was a little boy, and I wrote about a boy who got super powers, and could suddenly skate quicker than anyone else in the world. I really wanted to be a hockey player, and so I tried to write it into existence.

After that, I suppose I just kept doing that. I thought about what I wanted, and I wrote it, hoping it would one day come true. Since I’m not in the NHL, I don’t own a castle, and I still can’t fly, I guess it’s safe to say that tactic doesn’t really work, and I don’t recommend it to anyone.”

The crowd laughs.

“However, I’m standing here now and I just wrote a book that became a bestseller before it was even released, and sure, having a bunch of famous athletes promoting it might’ve helped…” He pauses, lets his gaze fall towards the Leafs players in attendence. Someone whoops. He thinks it’s Pasta.

“But it’s still a dream come true, and I’m incredibly proud of myself for wishing _that _into existence.

Anyway, I couldn’t have done any of this, if it wasn’t for one very special person. The person that inspired me, throughout this process, and kept me on track. The person that supports me every day, and deals with my writer’s block induced crankiness, or my caffeine addiction, or me writing until deep in the night.”

Zach breathes in and searches for Willy in the crowd. He finds him easily enough; he’s standing next to Spencer, a content little smile on his face.

Zach doesn’t have to spell it out. Willy knows he’s talking about him.

“This book would not have been here without you, and for that, I thank you. But I also want to thank you for something else.”

He pauses, waits. Willy gives him an encouraging little nod, and that’s all Zach needs to continue.

“I write books about people’s dreams coming true, and in doing so, I have always tried to make my own dreams come true. Like I said, usually, it doesn’t really work, but this time I wrote a book about a guy, falling in love with a guy, and living happily ever after.”

He smiles, and Willy smiles back. It’s like it’s just the two of them, in that room, in that moment.

“And I suppose this time, it worked. I wrote it into existence, because Will, you have given me that happily ever after. And you have made all my dreams come true.”

As soon as the word dies on Zach’s lips, the crowd is cheering. Zach thinks he can hear Mitchy above everyone else, and Alex is rolling his eyes but he’s laughing, and Zach’s mom is crying, a little.

He barely notices it, though, because Willy is walking towards him, and all Zach’s attention gets pulled towards his boyfriend.

The crowd seems to part for Willy, and it takes no more than five seconds before he is standing in front of Zach, a content, smug little smile on his face.

“That was quite the speech, Zachy,” he hums. “Whoever is that wonderful person you could have been talking about?”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” Zach mutters, as he allows Willy to put his hands on his hips and pull him into his body. “It’s not attractive.”

“That’s a lie,” Willy answers easily. “You find everything I do attractive. I make your dreams come true.”

He sounds too smug, and Zach can’t help but roll his eyes. “You are such a brat.”

“But you love me,” Willy says, unbothered, and Zach laughs, even as Willy pulls him in and kisses him, even as all his business associates, friends and family cheer and hoot around them.

He really, really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooow, here we are at the end! I hope you enjoyed reading this, I don't think I'll write something of this length again soon because I'm not sure I'm very good at keeping the story flowing all the way through haha. Hopefully you got some kind of enjoyment out of this, because I sure did! 
> 
> Also, just for your information, Brownie and Freddie totally hooked up that day. So.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @puckinghell on Tumblr!


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